The Blood of Your Veins
by Arinus
Summary: Sequel to "Always in Your Shadow". Severus Snape's daughter Calista attends Hogwarts. As if Occlumency lessons, peer rivalry, and growing up Snape weren't challenging enough, she still has to contend with her dangerous, sadistic mother, Bellatrix Lestrange, trying to take control of her mind. AU, in-character; mostly CC. Among other things, an in-depth examination of Occlumency.
1. Year 1: Chapter 1

The Blood of Your Veins

Sequel to Always In Your Shadow

PART ONE: FIRST YEAR

**Chapter One:**

August was determined to end with a fanfare. The sun beat down incessantly, so that walking outdoors felt rather like walking into a fireplace. Perhaps this was the reason that so many people paused to stare at the two figures that cut a path down the pavements of London, one tall and one quite small, but both wearing heavy black cloaks.

The taller of the two was a grown man probably somewhere close to thirty, and the smaller of the figures was a short, scrawny girl of perhaps ten or eleven years. This was nearly where the difference between them ended, for in addition to the heavy cloaks they wore, both sported straggly black hair, pasty complexions, and noses perhaps a tad too large for their respective faces.

"I don't understand why we can't simply Apparate to Diagon Alley," the younger of the pair whined, her breath coming fast as she tried to match the man's rapid pace.

Severus Snape glanced over his shoulder at the child, managing at once to communicate disapproval in his gaze, and to snag her hand in his own. He glanced around to see if anyone had been listening before issuing a warning to his daughter.

"Please," and the word was somehow more exasperated than polite, "Mind what you say in the middle of a crowded street. We're almost there anyhow."

"But it's _hot_ outside, and my feet are sore. And the bus was full of smelly old Mug-"

Severus whirled around to face his daughter, and the glare he directed at her was sufficient to quiet her, at least for the moment.

During the final leg of their journey, Severus considered the irony of his current situation. Five years ago, when his daughter Calista had been placed into his custody, she had been a silent and deeply damaged child, rendered selectively mute and decidedly anguished by the torturous actions of her mother, Bellatrix Lestrange.

In those days, Severus had feared that she would never speak to him. Now, he was lucky if he could get her to shut up.

Not that he minded listening to Calista – not usually. But when he was in the middle of a street crowded with Muggles and she was blathering on about wizarding affairs, he found himself wishing that she would keep quiet once in awhile.

Presently, Severus halted in front of a very inconspicuous door, and ushered his daughter through it before entering himself. It was dark and shabby inside, but it was, thankfully, quite cool.

That proved to be the Severus' solitary reprieve though, for as soon as he and Calista were inside the Leaky Cauldron, the girl scowled up at him again.

"There aren't any Muggles around anymore, so now will you tell me why we had to walk all the way to Diagon Alley?"

They had actually taken a bus a good deal of the way, but that hardly seemed worth pointing out to the pouting, dark-haired child before him. He gripped her hand more tightly even as she made to pull it free, and led her to a small table with two chairs.

Only when he had surveyed the other occupants of the pub did he let go of Calista's hand, and he nodded towards one of the chairs and ordered ice water for both of them.

When they were both seated, Severus looked across the table, his expression remarkably mild.

"I've explained this to you, Calista. You're not going to be allowed to use magic outside of class, and you're going to have to learn how to coexist with Muggles. The sooner you are accustomed to this, the better."

The involuntary sneer that crossed his face as he uttered the word "Muggles" did little to underscore his point, however.

Calista opened her mouth, likely with another sullen response, but their waters arrived and Severus was once again spared, as Calista drank half her water in once sip.

When they had both finished drinking, Severus chanced a glance at his daughter and remarked "No one told you to wear your winter cloak, you know."

Calista only huffed, but he did notice that, by the time they had reached the walled courtyard behind the pub, she had shed the cloak and carried it over her arm.

She was wearing faded purple corduroy trousers and a green-and-white striped top with bright red trainers, and if either of them noticed how ludicrous she looked, neither of them mentioned it.

Naturally, the first place that Severus guided Calista once they had entered Diagon Alley proper was the Apothecary. Calista didn't even bother to take out her school list; within moments Severus had found and purchased everything on it, as well as several other parcels for himself.

It was one of the perks of having the Hogwarts Potions Master for her father; another was that when they had crossed the narrow lane to the cauldron shop Calista was soon equipped with the sturdiest and highest-quality size 2 pewter cauldron that the shop stocked.

As he had anticipated, Calista took quite longer than necessary inside Flourish and Blott's. After an hour had passed, he was obliged to drag her bodily from the Magical Theory section of the bookshop.

When she had been younger, Calista had believed that she was a Squib, not realizing that her ability to keep her mother from reading her thoughts was actually a branch of magic called Occlumency.

She had been keenly interested in potions books as well as books concerning magical theory, in the hopes that she could find a branch of magic she didn't need inherent talent for, or perhaps a way to discover her own potential.

Although she had long since been convinced of her magical ability, her interest in both subjects had shown no sign of waning.

By the time Calista had been fitted for robes and equipped with all of her necessary school supplies, the daylight in Diagon Alley was fading, and when Calista begged to take the Floo Network home, he acquiesced.

**o-o-o-o**

The night before term started, Calista couldn't sleep at all.

She certainly wasn't the only first-year student of Hogwarts having trouble sleeping that night, but while other students tossed and turned in wakeful anticipation of the start of term, Calista was jolted awake for another reason entirely.

She had been having one of her nightmares again.

Calista sat at the head of her bed, in the small one-windowed room that had been hers ever since the beginning of the summer, when her father had thought it best that she spend some time away from Hogwarts until term started.

Until Severus had leased this flat at the beginning of the summer, Calista had lived with him in his professors' quarters at Hogwarts, with the Headmaster's permission. Now, however, that Calista was of school age herself, both the Headmaster and her father thought it best that she have a home outside of the castle.

Calista had never been to Spinner's End, and Severus had been determined to keep it that way, so instead of taking her there, he had made arrangements to lease a flat in a nice neighbourhood in South London during the summers, so the two of them had a decent place to go home to.

Now, Calista was fiercely glad for the moonlight streaming through the window of her bedroom, a luxury she had never had while residing in the dungeons of Hogwarts Castle.

Of course, everyone has nightmares form time to time. Calista tried to tell herself this as she shivered in her bed, even though the night was warm.

At the foot of her bed she could see the outline of her new school trunk, all packed for tomorrow, and she focused on this tangible object while she willed herself not to call out for her father, with her voice or her mind.

She couldn't help but notice the crease of worry that appeared in his forehead whenever she told him she had had another nightmare, and besides she was eleven years old now and ashamed to be frightened by something as inconsequential as a dream.

Looking at the trunk caused a new fear to arise in Calista; what if she had a nightmare in her dormitory, and woke all the other girls up, and they all thought she was a dreadful baby?

Would her father take house points from them for teasing her? Would that embarrass her even more?

Calista scowled at her own thoughts, and lay resolutely down on her side again. She didn't care what anyone else at school thought of her anyway; they were all likely to be simpering fools, and she had far more important things to think about most of the time anyway.

Calista closed her eyes, but the images from her most recent nightmare wouldn't stop assaulting her.

She had dreamed that she was walking through a hall of mirrors, and in each one of them she saw a reflection that was not her own – it was her mother's. She had been trying to run from her mother in the dream, but the mirrors had confused her and she hadn't known which way to go.

Eventually, her mother had caught up to her, had pointed her wand at her, and Calista had woken up in a cold sweat, imagining somehow that knives had flown from her mother's wand and stabbed her all over.

Calista sighed, opening her eyes and sitting up again. It was of no use, she wasn't going to get any sleep tonight, not after that dream. She slid off her bed and tiptoed over to the window instead, gazing out at the nearly-full moon.

Focusing on the bright, silvery light, she felt brave enough to allow herself to think about her mother.

Sometimes, Calista had a hard time remembering exactly what her mother looked like. It wasn't her mother's sharp, elegant cheekbones or piercing dark eyes that haunted her nightmares, but the coldness of her touch, the ferocity with which she hunted her enemies – even, sometimes, her friends.

She had spent the first four years of her life with Bellatrix, and vivid nightmares had kept most of the memories fresh. She supposed there might have been a good side to her mother, a time when she had shown some affection for her child, but if it was so, Calista could not remember it clearly.

She spent her waking hours firmly pushing everything she remembered about Bellatrix Lestrange into a hidden corner of her mind, but at night the door would fly open and there was nothing Calista could do to stop it.

It was as if, somehow, Bellatrix was trying to get in again. Calista shivered again.

Less than a year ago, Bellatrix had found a way to lodge her own presence inside her daughter's mind, even though Bellatrix could not reach her physically. Her father had told her that she was locked in Azkaban, but this did little to reassure Calista on nights like these.

Calista had believed herself to be very strong, but she had not been able to withstand the force of Bellatrix's attack on her mind, and it had been Severus who had employed highly dangerous and highly illegal methods of Legilimancy to rescue her.

She wondered now if Bellatrix was trying to reach her again somehow, but when she reflected, she didn't feel any different, except that she was frightened.

Before, when Bellatrix had attacked her mind, Calista had begun to feel that something was wrong long before she knew exactly what it was.

It had been rather like being in one of her nightmares, and waking up only to find that she wasn't dreaming after all, was in fact only in a different version of the same horrific dream.

But this was not what Calista felt now, and she was relieved even though the fear of her nightmare was still acute.

Calista finally abandoned her post at the window to ease open the lid of her school trunk and withdraw the first of her textbooks that her hand happened upon.

She slipped it out quickly and then snapped the lid closed, as if she was afraid that something inside the trunk would bite her hand.

That was the thing about nightmares; they made you afraid of _everything_, at least until the sun was shining again.

Calista curled up in the corner of her room, where the moonlight was strongest, and read _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 _until the sun was up.

**o-o-o-o**

Severus looked down at Calista, while a porter loaded her school trunk onto the scarlet train behind them. He placed his hand on her shoulder and smiled awkwardly.

"Well," he said, "I presume you can manage from here? I won't embarrass you by taking the Hogwarts Express with you, but I'll see you at school tonight."

Calista met his gaze and nodded. She poked the toe of one of her trainers at the ground, glancing back at the train with mild trepidation. When she looked back, her father was already disappearing through the barrier between platforms 9 and 10.

Calista sighed, and headed towards the nearest door on the train. They had arrived fairly early to the station, so there were still a few empty compartments when she boarded, and Calista chose one of these at random, flinging herself onto a seat and opening the cover of _The Standard Book of Spells_ again.

She had forgotten to put the book back in her school trunk until they were preparing to leave for the station, and she didn't want her father to notice and ask why she had taken it out in the first place, so she had simply tucked it into her robes.

She found she was glad for the distraction when the train began to fill up, and two other students joined her in the compartment.

One was short, with brown hair and the other was very thin and red-headed. Both were boys that looked to be about her age. Calista gathered from their conversation that they had just met on the platform, but beyond ascertaining this, she returned resolutely to studying her book.

The two continued to chat to each other, and as the train pulled away, Calista realized that the red-haired one was trying to get her attention. She set her book in her lap, keeping her index finger on the page she was reading.

"Er, what?" she asked, shaking her head slightly. She hadn't heard what he'd said.

"I said, 'Are you a first year as well?' Oliver and I are." He gestured to his new friend, and Calista reflected briefly before answering. She wasn't sure if she liked this boy; something in his tone of voice, confident and almost overly friendly, irked her.

Still, Calista nodded, indicating that she was a first-year as well. She picked up her book and opened it again, but the boy wasn't finished speaking to her.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," he said, in the same too-eager and too-polite voice, "My name is Percy. Percy Weasley."

She looked at him for a moment, and then said, in rather a flat voice, "I'm Calista."

"Kind of a strange name, isn't it?" the other, brown-haired boy asked, "But then again, so's Percy, eh? Anyway, I'm Oliver Wood. Think you'll go out for Quidditch?"

"No," Calista said, picking up her book again with determination. She couldn't quite hide a slight scowl. Her name was unusual, so what? It wasn't _that _strange.

Percy spoke up again.

"_I_ won't be wasting my time with Quidditch. Flying around on broomsticks is fine for a hobby, I suppose, but I have far more serious ambitions for my time at Hogwarts. I expect to be made a Prefect in my fifth year, of course, and I aim for Head Boy, but I shan't get too sure of myself just yet. Are you hoping to be a Prefect too, Calista?"

She tilted her head, eyeing Percy over the top of her book. It hadn't even occurred to her, actually.

"Maybe," she said hesitantly. She felt uncomfortable talking to the two boys, because she was afraid she'd accidentally say something stupid and they'd begin to tease her.

Calista hated feeling inferior, so she decided in that instant that she didn't like either of the two boys, and didn't really care what they thought.

It was much easier to stop caring what she said or did once she had decided not to like either of them. While Percy kept blathering on about his ambitions, and Oliver interjected now and then with Quidditch trivia, Calista ignored them both and focused on her book.

She had gotten through nearly an entire chapter when she felt Percy staring at her again. She tried to ignore it, but both boys had grown quiet, so she lowered the book again, and looked at them.

"What?" she asked, a touch of irritation in her voice.

"What House are you hoping for?" Oliver asked in a tone that suggested it wasn't the first time he'd asked her.

"Oh," she said intelligently, "Um."

"_I'm_ hoping for Gryffindor. It's a family tradition. My parents were in it, and both my older brothers are as well," Percy said proudly, "Although I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be terrible. You must be going for Ravenclaw yourself, the way you've already got your nose buried in a textbook."

"Actually," Calista said, "I'm hoping for Slytherin."

She picked up her book and hid her face in it, a clear indication that she didn't want to be bothered anymore.

Neither of the boys spoke to her again for the duration of the train ride.

**o-o-o-o**

Calista wasn't actually certain which House she wanted to be sorted into. As she stood in the Entrance Hall with the rest of the first years, she contemplated. She looked around at the other students, trying to guess which House they'd be sorted into.

She knew a fair amount about each House, having lived at Hogwarts for four years or so, but she hadn't really given much thought to which one she'd prefer to be a part of.

If she hadn't already gathered from her father's attitude that Gryffindor would be the worst one to be sorted into, sharing a train compartment with Gryffindor-hopeful Percy Weasley had illustrated the point.

Calista had thought him tiresome and insufferable, and besides, her father had told her that members of that House had a reputation for being quite bone-headed.

He had said more than once that the only reason their reputation tended towards the brave was because they were a lot of fools, rushing headfirst into any and every situation, rather than actually thinking things through.

Calista knew her father had been in Slytherin, but she knew her mother had been as well, so she wasn't certain how she felt about it. Perhaps Ravenclaw _would_ be best.

She didn't have any time left to wonder though, because the students were being led into the Great Hall by a woman Calista had seen in Hogwarts, but could not recall the name of. She thought she was Head of Gryffindor House.

The students had been lined up in alphabetical order for the Sorting, and Calista was quite small for her age, so even standing on tiptoe she couldn't really make out the Sorting Hat. She knew what the Sorting Ceremony was like, knew what she was supposed to do, but she was still curious to get a glimpse of the hat.

Even though she couldn't actually see the hat, she could definitely hear it.

Her father hadn't mentioned the Hat was going to _sing_, and yet sing it did, belting out a clever little song that echoed throughout the Great Hall.

"_You might not expect too much from me,_

_Just an ancient, floppy hat,_

_But if you put me on, you'll see,_

_I'm so much more than that!_

_The four founders of Hogwarts knew,_

_They could not live forever,_

_So each one placed his point of view,_

_In a hat that tells you whether:_

_You'll belong in Gryffindor,_

_With the bravest of the brave,_

_The knights in shining armour,_

_Fighting with sword and stave!_

_You'll belong in Hufflepuff,_

_With that kind and loyal band,_

_Even when the seas get rough,_

_There will always be a hand!_

_You'll belong in Ravenclaw,_

_With the cleverest of minds,_

_Where those who are enlightened are,_

_Most prized and treasured finds!_

_You'll belong in Slytherin,_

_Where ambition is most prized,_

_They're clever and conniving,_

_And will do anything to rise!_

The students broke into applause, and Calista considered her prospects. Ravenclaw and Slytherin had both been described as having "clever" students, so she rather hoped she was sorted into one of the two.

Gryffindors were unbearable, of course, and it sounded as though Hufflepuffs were a bunch of feeble-minded pushovers.

Even as Calista was mulling this over, the professor unrolled a long sheet of parchment, and called off the first student to be sorted:

"Avril, Olivia!"

Calista had a glimpse of a girl with a long blonde ponytail darting towards the stool, and then the hat shouted:

"_SLYTHERIN!"_

"Baggins, John,"

"_HUFFLEPUFF!"_

"Banks, Lucinda,"

"_RAVENCLAW!"_

The hat went on and on, and Calista gradually drew closer to the head of the line. She shivered a little as the professor called the first 'S' name, knowing it was almost her turn.

She was close enough now to the front of the room to have a good view of the staff table. She looked along it and spotted her father, who was watching the Sorting. She saw him clap as a boy named Lucas Slater became a Slytherin.

Severus must have felt her gaze, or perhaps he knew her name was next, for he caught her eye and offered a tiny, very nearly imperceptible smile. Calista knew it to be one of encouragement, and felt a tiny bit better.

"Snape, Calista!"

Calista was dimly aware of a flurry of whispers, and even a catcall from the Gryffindor table, as she approached the stool with the hat. She froze, half lifting her arm. Was she supposed to take the hat herself and put it on, or would the professor do it for her?

The professor, who Calista just now remembered was called McGonagall, nodded slightly, indicating that Calista should sit. Feeling her face heat up, she obeyed, and McGonagall settled the hat on her head.

"_Ah, what have we here?"_

Calista almost jumped at the little voice in her ear. She had known the hat could talk, but she was still on edge.

_Anything but Gryffindor_, she silently willed, wondering if the hat would pick up on it.

Apparently the hat understood, for it chuckled softly.

"_Anything, eh? Well let's see what we've got here. Plenty of courage, you know, you wouldn't go completely wrong if you reconsidered your opinion of Gryffindor…"_

_No,_ Calista thought desperately, imagining her father's disappointment.

"_You're certainly a clever one, aren't you? Still, even barring your refusal to be sorted into Gryffindor, my recommendation will have to be…_

_SLYTHERIN!"_

This last word was shouted so everyone could hear, and there was a sudden rush of noise as the hat was lifted off Calista's head.

She caught her father's eye again, and his smile was now wide enough to be considered gloating. She smiled weakly back, and walked quickly to the Slytherin table.

Never before in her life had Calista been greeted so warmly by her peers as when she sat down at the Slytherin table for the first time.

Several students patted her on the back, and nearly all of them smiled or waved or both.

"Is it true Professor Snape's your dad?" a third-year boy asked, and Calista nodded.

"Wow," remarked the girl next to her. Calista recognised her as being Olivia Avril, who had been the first student sorted that evening, "Your father is a professor? You're lucky, you'll get top marks."

Calista lifted her chin slightly.

"Potions is my best subject," she said, not at all humbly, "I would get top marks regardless of the professor."

Oliva chuckled. "Whatever you say," she said, shrugging, and Calista was prepared to dislike her too.

Just as she was deciding this, Olivia poked Calista in the ribs and pointed to the sorting hat. Percy Weasley, the boy from the train, was approaching, his nose high in the air.

"Bet you ten galleons that git is sorted into _Gryffindor_," Olivia said snidely, "Someone told me both his brothers are in it."

Calista looked at Olivia again, and recanted her initial assessment. Perhaps she wasn't so terrible, after all.

"Do I look like I'm going to take a losing bet?" Calista retorted, "_I_ didn't get sorted into Gryffindor, after all. I'm not daft."

Olivia grinned.

The sorting had screamed "_GRYFFINDOR!"_

"Told you so," Olivia whispered.

Calista smiled slightly. Perhaps this wouldn't be so difficult after all.


	2. Year 1: Chapter 2

**Chapter Two:**

Calista slept soundly her first night at Hogwarts. It was as if the previous night of anguish had never happened, and in light of her initial acceptance by fellow Slytherins, she even dared to hope her nightmares would be over for good.

In fact, she slept so soundly that she very nearly overslept. She would have, were it not for the excited chatter of the other girls in her dormitory.

There were four girls in the first-year Slytherin dormitories that year: Olivia Avril, whom Calista had been friendly with the night before; Portia MacNair, a solid-looking girl with a constantly runny nose; Emily Yaxley, who was very tall and willowy and so far had struck Calista as quite shy; and of course, Calista herself.

Calista scrambled out of bed, not bothering to make the covers up again, and hurried into her robes. The other girls were nearly all ready, and she didn't want to be left behind. She ran a comb half-heartedly through her hair, loosening a few tangles but doing almost nothing about its straggly appearance.

"We have Herbology first thing today," Portia MacNair said, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand and sniffing hard, "I don't see why we have to go outside so early."

Calista allowed a fairly wide berth between herself and Portia as the four girls began their trek to the Great Hall for breakfast. She wasn't sure if Portia was ill or allergic, but either way Calista wasn't overly fond of bogies.

Severus wasn't at the staff table in the Great Hall. He had always taken breakfast in his quarters, but Calista had wondered before if this was simply for her sake. Since he was not here now, she supposed that meant he had always done so, even before she had gone to live with him.

Five minutes into breakfast, Calista found herself wishing that that she was still able to take breakfast with her father in his quarters, away from the rest of the students.

Her fellow Slytherins found her very interesting, because her father was a professor. She had assumed that the children of other professors would be attending Hogwarts as well, but judging by the attention she received, she was the only one.

She didn't know if this was because none of the other professors had children, or if their children went to another school.

"So if Snape's your dad," a beefy second-year boy said thickly through a mouthful of breakfast meats, "You must've been to Hogwarts before, right?"

Calista swallowed a mouthful of porridge and nodded, wincing at the bits of meat that were still stuck in the boy's teeth.

"Yes," she said, "But only in the dungeons, mostly."

"Wicked," the boy continued, spearing another sausage with his fork, "Then you must know where all the secret passages are."

"Um," Calista began, but then Olivia rolled her eyes and interrupted.

"She just told you she's only been in the dungeons before," she snapped.

Calista concentrated very hard on her porridge so she wouldn't laugh.

After breakfast, the Slytherin first-years trudged en masse to the Greenhouses. Luckily, it was still warm outside, and Calista rather liked the feel of being outside in the morning.

Herbology was a double lesson with the Ravenclaws, who were already at the Greenhouses when Calista and the other Slytherins arrived.

"Come along, come along," a dumpy middle-aged witch called, "You don't want to be late to your first lesson."

Someone muttered under their breath, but Calista couldn't tell who it was, or what they'd said.

"I'm Professor Sprout," she announced, "And this is Herbology. In your first year, we will be discussing proper techniques for growing and harvesting plants in general. We will learn the properties and uses of many commonly-used plants. Our first unit is on the basics of good gardening practice. Open your books, please."

The lesson seemed to go on for hours, and it was not very interesting to Calista, who already knew most of what was covered in the first lesson simply because of the crossover material between Potions and Herbology.

She flipped through her book, looking ahead to see if they would get to anything interesting soon.

"Miss Snape! We are on page seven." Professor Sprout reprimanded her, and Calista turned back to the beginning of the book with an exaggerated riffling of pages.

Confined to the spread of pages six and seven, Calista nearly sighed with boredom, reading and re-reading the information on the pages, almost none of which was new to her.

Professor Sprout was still droning on about soil acidity, something Calista didn't care about. Wasn't that what Apothecaries were for? So you could obtain ingredients that were already prepared for potions making, and not have to muck around in the dirt forever?

"Miss Snape?" Calista started, realizing belatedly that Professor Sprout had asked her a question.

"Would you care to tell the class the proper time of year to plant Bubotubers?"

"Er," Calista fumbled, not certain if it was something she had ever heard of. Why hadn't she read the Herbology book on the train? "Uhm, September?"

Several of the Ravenclaw students sniggered, and several more shot their hands into the air. Professor Sprout called on one of them.

"Yes, Miss Clearwater?"

"The proper time to plant a Bubotuber plant is in late April," a girl with long curly hair answered, "September is when the mature plant should be _harvested_."

She spoke in a way that clearly insinuated Calista was daft not to have realised the difference. Calista scowled at the girl, who smirked back.

Professor Sprout assigned them all ten inches on soil acidity and planting seasons, and as Calista was closing her book and putting her quill away, she clearly heard one of the Ravenclaw girls as she strode by.

"I swear, the Slytherin students become thicker every year."

Calista sneered at the girl. It wasn't the one who had answered the question, but a stout, red-faced girl with bushy brown hair. She tried to think of a clever retort, but none came to mind, so instead she marched past the girl, catching up to Olivia and the others.

**o-o-o-o**

The second lesson that day was Charms. Professor Flitwick was a tiny little man with a very high voice. Several of the Slytherins sniggered when he had to climb up on top of a stack of books to begin his lecture.

"Hello, hello. Welcome to Charms class. Today I will go over the course syllabus, and we will discuss the qualities that separate a Charm from a Transfiguration Spell."

He used his wand to send a copy of the course syllabus flying to each student in the room. Calista's landed squarely in front of her, and she scanned the parchment, feeling disappointed for the second time that day.

It looked as though Charms class was going to be a bunch of happy, useless rubbish. Tickling Charm? Scouring Charm? Were they going to be learning anything useful in this course?

At the end of the lecture, Professor Flitwick asked if there were any questions. Calista put her hand up.

"Yes, Miss Snape?" He seemed delighted to have a question to answer.

"I was just wondering. If I'm ever attacked by a vampire, should I use a Tickling Charm, or a Colour-Change Charm to defeat him?"

Several of the other students jeered at this, and Calista smirked.

Professor Flitwick, however, didn't seem to be amused.

"Five points from Slytherin for impertinence," he said, "And you all seem to agree with Miss Snape that first-year lessons are beyond you, I'd like the entire class to write fifteen inches on the Silencing Charm which I'm sure you all know is a piece of fifth-year magic."

**o-o-o-o**

At lunch time, Calista was sullen and withdrawn. Fifteen inches of parchment and five points for one little comment?

Olivia seemed to sense the source of her troubles, for she leaned her head down and murmured to Calista.

"Marcus Flint says Flitwick and Snape don't get along. He reckons Flitwick came down hard on you because of your dad."

Calista shrugged, not feeling like being consoled. She wondered if it was true that her father didn't get along with the other professors. Certainly she had never known him to be particularly friendly to any of them.

She pulled her class schedule from her bag and looked at it carefully. She was scheduled for Astronomy this afternoon, and then she had to find time to write at least two papers so far.

She scanned the schedule for Potions, and saw that she didn't have it until Friday, but that it was a double session with the Gryffindors. She groaned aloud and put her schedule away.

It was going to be a long week, and she expected that having to share Potions class with the Gryffindors would dull the one bright spot in her class schedule.

**o-o-o-o**

As it turned out, Potions wasn't the only class that caught Calista's interest. She surprised herself with her interest in Transfiguration, a class taught by the Head of Gryffindor House, Professor McGonagall.

The class was challenging for her, because she didn't have much practical experience with actual wandwork; still, she understood the theory, and most of her errors came from over-thinking things.

In their first lesson, they had been instructed to change matches into needles. Calista had concentrated so deeply on the transformation of the wood into metal that she had wound up with a stainless-steel match.

It was utterly useless both for lighting fires and for sewing, but Professor McGonagall had mentioned that changing the properties of an object without completely transfiguring it into something else was actually quite tricky and nuanced.

She had not been sufficiently impressed with Calista to give her a pass on the assignment, however, and added to her mounting pile of homework Calista now had to find time to practise the spell. McGonagall had supplied her with an entire book of matches to experiment on.

Calista couldn't stand her History of Magic class, but luckily no one else could either, and old Professor Binns didn't seem to notice that no one in class was paying any attention.

Most of what the first-year Slytherins were doing, in fact, was circulating crude drawings of Professor Binns. In such drawings, he was depicted lecturing in the middle of a fierce duel, in the middle of a goblin war, or in other such circumstances.

The consensus was that Binns would keep on lecturing, oblivious to anything from the end-of-class signal to all-out war. Indeed, he had kept on lecturing through his own death, and now hovered in front of the classroom as a ghost.

The first Astronomy lesson had taken place on Monday afternoon, but Professor Sinistra had revealed that the rest of their lessons would take place at midnight. It didn't' seem to bother her in the least that the students were scheduled for Tranfiguration at 9:00 AM the following morning.

**o-o-o-o**

Calista wrote twenty inches on the Silencing Charm, a task that proved extremely difficult, since there wasn't really very much to write about beyond the way the wand was meant to be held, and the way _Silencio_ was meant to be intoned, all of which took up perhaps three inches of parchment.

Calista had then gone on to highlight spells in the same family of wrist movement, as well as delving into the theory of _why_ the spell was constructed in the way it was.

Burrowing deep into Adalbert Waffling's _Magical Theory_, Calista discovered that the modern Silencing Charm was the result of many failed or faulty incarnations.

The spell had originated as a ritualistic one in ancient Egypt, before the advent of wands, and had actually required that a drop of Banshee blood be placed on the lips of the person the spell was being cast on.

Calista found this puzzling, since Banshees were known for their piercing shrieks rather than their silences, so she had delved deeper into the history of the ritual, and discovered that at the time, people had believed that Banshees got their powerful voices by stealing voices from others. Thus, the blood was intended to rob the person of their voice.

Calista went on to describe how a witch named Casseiopia had conducted several experiments and deduced that the actual silencing effect of the ritual was caused by the dance performed around the victim, not the blood itself.

In later years, when magic wands became the tool of choice, the movements had been adapted to a simple waving of the wand instead of a dance.

In the end, Calista's paper was five inches longer than Flitwick had asked for. She had intended the length of her paper to be taken as a challenge, to show Flitwick that she didn't care one bit that he'd assigned her extra homework for her comment, but her plan backfired.

On the contrary, Professor Flitwick was deeply impressed by Calista's extensive research, and she became, without quite wanting to, one of his favourite students. From that point on, he tended to overlook her snide comments, or would redirect them by asking her another question.

When she asked him, on the third day of class, if the Bubble-Head Charm was an allusion to the Gryffindors' lack of ability to master it, he asked her, quite seriously, if she believed that the qualities of each student that determined their House placement would also indicate their strengths and weaknesses in certain subjects.

When she answered snidely that she didn't think Gryffindors had any strengths, since sword-fighting was no longer offered at Hogwarts, he had assigned her another essay, on the qualities that had led several witches and wizards throughout history to invent new Charms.

After the first essay on the Silencing Charm, Flitwick only assigned the extra essays to Calista, but he also awarded her extra-credit points for completing them. By the end of class on Thursday, she had earned back the five points he'd taken from Slytherin as well as an additional ten.

**o-o-o-o**

Calista had wondered what it would be like to be in her father's Potions class. Of course, she had been taught plenty about potion-making by him before starting school, but never in a classroom full of other students.

Severus did glance at her when she walked into the dungeon classroom, but he didn't make a point of recognizing her in front of the rest of her classmates, which was frankly a bit of a relief to Calista, who was tired of fielding questions about being related to the Potions Master.

Calista set up her cauldron in the middle of the classroom, between Olivia Avril and Emily Yaxley. She deliberately sat away from Portia MacNair, because she didn't want the other girls' bogies dripping into her own cauldron.

No matter. Portia seemed perfectly content to sit with the Slytherin boys. Calista reflected meanly that she fit in beside them, being nearly as broad-shouldered and beefy-looking as most of the boys.

Just as the warning bell was ringing for the start of class, the Gryffindors began to stream into the classroom. Percy Weasley was first to arrive, and then two girls Calista didn't know by name. Oliver Wood was last, coming in behind three other students and decidedly after the bell.

"You are late," Professor Snape intoned, radiating disapproval. "Three points from Gryffindor. That's one from each of you that arrived after the bell rang."

"What?!" Oliver Wood sounded outraged, "Come off it, we were barely late, and we had to come all the way from Gryffindor Tower!"

The professor fixed his glare on Wood; Calista could have told him that it would be a very bad idea to continue the argument, when her father's face looked like it did now.

"All of the other students managed to be on time to class. I, for one, will not make allowances."

"Well of course the Slytherins arrived on time," Percy Weasley spoke up, "Their common room is in the Dungeons, sir. But we had to traverse the entire castle to get here; surely you can see the trouble we have, and forgive us this minor trespass."

Calista had to bite the inside of her mouth to keep from laughing out loud. Weasley was making a very big mistake.

Professor Snape's mouth twitched, and he swept across the room to speak directly to Percy.

"You are just as impertinent as your brothers are, Mr. Weasley. A further point from Gryffindor, and I expect you to draw a map by the beginning of next week's lesson and hand it in to me. The map shall illustrate the shortest path from Gryffindor Tower to my classroom, and then you will no longer have an excuse to be late."

Percy lowered his face to his cauldron and set up his ingredients in silence. Olivia caught Calista's eye and smirked.

Severus returned to the centre of the classroom, and began his lecture.

"The art of Potion-Making is perhaps the most finessed art at Hogwarts. Few of you will appreciate the beauty of a simmering cauldron, the elegance of its shimmering fumes.

Even fewer of you will learn to appreciate the subtle differences from one infusion to the next that can be the difference between pain and pleasure, between life and death."

Here, he glanced around the room, his gaze resting briefly on Oliver Wood and on Calista, for very opposite reasons.

"For those select few of you that show promise, I can teach you to brew fame, to bottle glory – even, to put a stopper in death."

Calista was entranced; of course, she had heard him say similar things before, but to be reminded, here in the classroom where she would learn it all, just how powerful and elegant of an art it was – it thrilled her, even more than Transfiguration class had.

"In each and every class session, we will brew a potion.," Severus continued, "If you cannot complete these assignments to satisfaction, then I can do no more than wish you luck on the end-of-term exams, but I doubt that will do you any good. I expect, of course, that you will remain after class to work on assignments that are not perfected during class time."

A Gryffindor girl raised her hand.

"Miss Collins?" Severus called on her.

"If we stay after class to fix a potion, can we improve our grade on it?"

She quailed beneath the professor's stern gaze, but he answered the question anyway, his voice silky and cold.

"You are allowed ample time in class to correctly brew your potion. I will not reward those who cannot manage their time properly."

Severus resumed the lecture by asking the class if they knew what a bezoar was. When Percy Weasley's hand shot into the air, Severus glanced at Calista before calling on Percy. Percy's cheeks reddened as he answered, evidently attempting to put himself in the professor's favour after his earlier outburst.

"A bezoar is a stone from the stomach of a goat. It, er, is used in antidotes," Percy looked satisfied with his answer.

"Is that all?" Severus asked, before he returned his gaze to the side of the room where all the Slytherins were sitting.

"Calista, would you kindly fill Mr. Weasley in on a few details?"

Calista noted that he hadn't called her 'Miss Snape', and was glad. It would have seemed far more awkward, somehow, than simply being the only student in the class that he referred to by first name.

"A bezoar is actually a hairball, hardened to resemble a stone," she said clearly, unable to keep a slight smirk off her own face as she watched Percy's redden, "It can form in the stomach of almost any mammal, though it is only when found in a goat is it useful in potion-making. It is used in many antidotes, but can also be an antidote quite by itself, in many circumstances."

Calista could swear she saw her father smirk a little in Percy's direction as well, before he nodded and continued the lecture.

Wood interjected, "Percy got the answer first."

Severus' response was icy: "I do not award full credit for partial or incomplete answers," he said.

Professor Snape assigned them a boil-cure potion to work on for their first potion, and Calista almost laughed. She had made the very same potion countless times, and could nearly mix it in her sleep.

Her ingredients were simmering long before anyone else's had made it into their cauldrons. As Calista gently stirred her mixture, she glanced around the classroom.

Several students were still squinting at the page in their books, although a few had begun to prepare their ingredients. Across the room, Percy was crushing snake fangs, and beside her, Emily Yaxley was stewing her horned slugs.

Calista looked to her right, and saw that Olivia's cauldron was just now being put to simmer as well. She saw Olivia pick up the porcupine quills, preparing to dump them into the cauldron…

"No!", Calista hissed, reaching out to stop Olivia from putting the quills in. The quills spilled all over the tabletop and the floor, but none of them landed in the cauldron, luckily.

"Calista, what-" Olivia began, but Calista glanced up to see if her father was watching. She probably wasn't supposed to help other students.

Snape was occupied however, reprimanding Colleen Collins for not crushing her snake fangs into a fine enough powder, and Calista leaned over to whisper to Olivia.

"Don't put the porcupine quills in until _after_ you take the cauldron off the fire, or—"

Just then, there was an explosion and an awful hissing noise from across the room. Wood's cauldron was issuing angry clouds of green smoke, and the other Gryffindors were dodging the sprays flying form the cauldron and burning their shoes.

"Or that happens," Calista remarked, perversely glad that it was a Gryffindor who had made the mistake, instead of Olivia.

Wood was given a detention during which to practise brewing the potion properly, and Calista was awarded top marks for the assignment. No one was particularly surprised by either development.

Emily Yaxley had done quite a good job on her potion too, so she was awarded a passing grade along with Calista. Severus rather looked as though he suspected Calista of helping Emily, but she truly hadn't.

When Severus pronounced Olivia's potion to be more than acceptable as well, Calista concentrated on blocking off her mind. Severus apparently found it slightly suspicious that both students seated next to his daughter had done the best, next to Calista herself, on the assignment.

After class, Calista had intended to stay behind and talk to her father about her first week of lessons, but Wood was still cleaning up his potion, and Olivia wanted Calista and the rest of the Slytherins to go down to the Quidditch pitch and watch tryouts for the Slytherin team.

Calista wasn't terribly interested in Quidditch, but now that she had found some level of acceptance among some of her peers, she rather enjoyed it, and decided to go along with the rest of them.

**o-o-o-o**

"Marcus Flint's going out for Chaser, I heard," Olivia chatted as they made their way to the Quidditch pitch, after a brief stop at the dormitory to put their school things away. They had Friday afternoons completely free, remarkably.

"Oh," Calista said, "Which one is he?"

"He's just a year ahead of us," Portia piped up. She paused to sniffle before she added, "They don't often let second-years onto the team."

"He's the thick one who asked if you knew where all the secret passages were," Olivia clarified, "I hope he's better at Quidditch than he is at deductive reasoning."

Calista was surprised into laughter at Olivia's observation, because she had been thinking rather the same thing herself.

"Why's he in Slytherin, anyway?" Calista ventured, "Aren't you supposed to be clever to be in this House?"

"Clever or ambitious," Olivia answered, "Marcus reckons he's going to play for a professional Quidditch team. He told me all about it at dinner the other night."

"I'm surprised that Weasley boy didn't get sorted into Slytherin then," Calista said, "He told me on the train that he wants to be Head Boy."

Olivia and Portia sniggered. "That'll happen as soon as Gryffindor wins the House Cup," Portia supplied sarcastically.

"I don't really know exactly how the sorting hat chooses," Olivia admitted, "I asked Marcus, but, well." She shrugged, indicating how useful of an endeavour that had been.

"Still, he's a pureblood, and that's got to count for something."

"Yeah," Calista echoed, feeling strangely hollow.

She wasn't completely pure-blooded; Bellatrix had alluded to it on one of the rare occasions that she wasn't pretending Calista had been fathered by the Dark Lord himself.

Severus almost never talked about his family beyond Calista herself, but she had gathered that his father was a Muggle. She had gathered as well that Severus loathed his father.

Now Calista had to wonder: Was it simply _because_ he was a Muggle that Severus had loathed him?

Would her housemates think less of her if they realised she was not a pureblood? In that instant, Calista resolved they would never find out.

"It has definitely got to count for something," Calista echoed, following her classmates to the Quidditch pitch.


	3. Year 1: Chapter 3

**Chapter Three:**

Severus decided to actually take breakfast in the Great Hall on the first Saturday after term had begun. Since Calista had come to live with him five years ago, he had rarely gone so long without spending time with her, and he found that he missed her company.

Paternal affection did not come naturally to Severus, but he tried. It went a long way that he could see so much of himself in Calista, in her prickly self-defensive attitude and strike-first mentality.

Watching Calista begin at Hogwarts brought back a lot of his own memories, some fond, but most painful.

He remembered his excitement, but also remembered that in was in large part due to the simple fact that he'd be away from home. In those days, if he could have lived at Hogwarts year-round, he would have.

How ironic, then, that he had spent most of Calista's childhood doing just that, simply because he didn't want to bring her to Spinner's End any more than he had actually wanted to be there.

Despite his overall opinion of the place though, he hadn't sold it. He was not fool enough to think that the rest of the Dark Lord's puppets were locked away for good, that the Dark Lord would never come back. He certainly hoped it to be the case, but he knew better.

If and when his old colleagues began to seek him out, he wanted them to return to his old place instead of seeking him out at Hogwarts or in the flat he'd leased over the summer. In short, he wanted to keep them away from Calista.

Severus drifted from his musings about real estate, and returned to watching the double doors of the Great Hall. Soon enough, a little platoon of green-trimmed robes came through the doors, and he spotted Calista among them.

Most of the students wore Muggle clothes on weekends, but it was fairly typical of the Slytherins to wear their robes all the time, particularly the younger ones.

It was a subtle sign that they would never embrace Muggle culture, although it was really a stupid sign, because most of them were wearing Muggle clothes beneath their robes anyway. If he recalled his own time at Hogwarts correctly, some students would outgrow the habit, and some wouldn't.

Calista was with the other first-year Slytherin girls and two of the boys. As she entered the Great Hall, she was listening to something a blonde girl was saying, and then the two of them laughed.

Nearly every time in the last week that Severus had caught sight of his daughter, she was in the company of this same girl, and he remembered from his class list and from the Sorting ceremony that her surname was Avril.

It wasn't a name he was familiar with, but these days intermarriage between wizards and Muggles was increasingly common, even in the old families.

There was also a new aristocracy developing, of which families like the Malfoys were a part of, so it wasn't really any surprise that he hadn't heard the family name before.

MacNair, that was a name he knew of, and Yaxley. Both of the other first-year Slytherin girls came from families that Severus knew first-hand contained Death Eaters, let alone pureblood sympathisers.

Severus hadn't really known either of them particularly well, since they had attended Hogwarts well before he did, but he remembered them from the Dark Lord's inner circle.

He knew that the majority of students sorted into Slytherin were, or became, pureblood fanatics. Those that had entered school without the mania, like himself, had somehow left with it.

This was the main reason that Severus worried about Calista's company, now. At least two of the girls in her dormitory were related to Death Eaters, and this presented a problem.

To his knowledge, Calista _wasn't_ a pureblood fanatic. They had never outright discussed the issue, but he had also never heard her use the word 'Mudblood', although he knew she had heard it before, and knew what it meant.

It was a touchy subject, because he didn't possess entirely innocent views on the matter himself. On the other hand, most of Calista's exposure to ideas of blood-purity had been from Bellatrix, and Severus could only begin to guess at the twisted ideas that she was capable of implanting on a child.

It occurred to Severus that the subject was one he would have to broach with his daughter soon.

He truly had no idea what he would say, and he feared this impending discussion even more than he had the discussion they'd had over the summer, when he had had to buy her all kinds of embarrassing books because she didn't have a mother to give her any of the normal pre-teen girl talks. Whatever those consisted of.

In that particular circumstance, Severus had been relieved when Calista had seemed as resistant to discussing anything in the books as he was. He figured she'd get out of them the necessities, and when she got old enough to think about dating, he would simply kill any boy that even thought about making eyes at her.

To that end, Severus had misgivings from the beginning about Olivia Avril. She was the sort of delicately-built, blonde and blue-eyed girl that would almost surely develop into a true beauty, and already she carried herself with a great deal of self-assurance.

She clearly came from money, because all of her school robes were impeccably tailored, and she wore all sorts of jewellery and hair ornaments. Severus even thought he had smelled perfume when he'd leaned over her cauldron to inspect her boil cure potion.

She was quite mature, likely very cultured, obviously well-off, and even this early in the school year, Severus noted the way the other first-years deflected to her. She actually reminded him an awful lot of Lucius Malfoy.

If there was a type of girl that was likely to start trouble, Severus suspected it was Olivia Avril's type. He was also struck by the visual difference between the Avril girl and his own child when they stood side-by-side.

Where Olivia was tall and self-assured and impeccably put-together for an eleven-year-old, Calista appeared small and ragged by comparison. Her hair looked like she hadn't gotten all the tangles out of it, and while her robes looked fine, Severus knew that most of her everyday clothes were mismatched and probably looked worse for wear.

Calista also carried herself with her shoulders hunched and her head low, most of the time. He didn't think he had ever bought her any kind of hair ornaments, and she certainly didn't have any jewellery.

He had thought those kinds of things were for girls older than Calista, but was he wrong? She had never asked for any of those things, had never really asked for anything besides books, and things for her cat.

Watching Calista make her way to the table, looking like a lost mutt of a puppy at the glamorous Olivia's heels, Severus lost his appetite. He placed his fork down, and simply watched the Slytherin table surreptitiously for the rest of the meal.

He remembered how out-of-place he had felt when he was around Calista's age, and had begun to notice that none of the other students looked as ragged as he did; that none of them were wearing old hand-me-down clothes that were too large for them.

It had never been his intention to make Calista feel the same way; the truth was that she had hardly grown in the last three years or so, and had never asked for new clothes.

It wasn't the type of thing he was likely to remember on his own, since wardrobe was of such low importance to him as an adult. He had work robes and dress robes, and there was little need for anything else.

He supposed she had been eight or nine the last time that he had really taken her shopping for a lot of new clothes, and she had picked out a lot of things that looked very nice individually but clashed horribly when one tried to make an actual outfit out of any of them.

Severus really _did_ take care of Calista the best he could, and it was unsettling and a bit painful for him to look at her and realize that, to most others, it probably looked like she wasn't really well-cared-for at all.

All the while he had been musing, he'd also been watching the Slytherin table. Olivia was definitely calling the shots among the first-years, but he noticed a key difference between his own beginnings at Hogwarts and Calista's.

He had always been, at least in the beginning, on the outskirts of the group, tolerated but not quite accepted until he had begun to impress some of the older students with his knowledge of the Dark Arts.

Calista, however, was quite obviously a part of the group. Though Olivia appeared to be doing most of the topping, whenever Calista did say something, the others seemed to listen. He saw them chuckle at a joke she made, which, judging from the direction she'd tilted her head in, was likely at a Gryffindor's expense.

Severus honestly didn't know if Calista's quick acceptance among the Slytherins was a good thing or a bad thing; he supposed he should be glad that she seemed to be acclimating so well, but he had a strong suspicion that, in order to fit in, she was going to lose part of herself.

When it had happened to him, it had set him on a path that had cost him nearly everything he cared about.

He definitely needed to have a chat with his daughter.

**o-o-o-o**

On Saturday morning, Calista was surprised to see her father sitting at the staff table. She noticed him as soon as she entered, but then Olivia was speaking, and Calista shifted her attention to her classmate.

Olivia was talking about a recent trip she had taken to Knockturn Alley with her parents. It seemed to involve a lot of witty observations on Olivia's part, most of them derisive of Muggles and Muggle-borns.

At the breakfast table, most of the others were talking about the previous afternoon's Quidditch tryouts. Marcus Flint had made Chaser, and was the only second-year to make it to the team that year.

"You could've gone out, Calista," Marcus sent generously, "You're real small, I bet you'd make a good Seeker."

Calista wasn't really sure if he meant it as an insult or a compliment, so she decided to just ignore the comment altogether. She turned back to Olivia, who had gone off on a tangent from her story.

"Of course, Mother has a cousin who married a Muggle - we don't keep in touch with her. But in my direct lineage, there isn't anyone with Muggle blood for at _least_ six generations."

Olivia gloated, while some of the other students began to share their own family trees. Some of them counted back generations to an obscure Muggle ancestor her or there. A few shamefacedly admitted to having a Muggle aunt or grandparent.

"What about you, Calista?" Portia MacNair asked nasally, "How many generations have you got?"

"Oh, er, quite a lot, I think," Calista answered, unprepared for the question. "I think I, uh, have a Muggle cousin or something somewhere, too."

Olivia overheard and nodded, touching Calista lightly on the back of her hand.

"Don't worry, I have a hard time remembering which cousin of my mother's married a Muggle too. You simply don't remember people who aren't important."

Calista decided to let Olivia's misinterpretation stand.

**o-o-o-o**

Midmorning, when Olivia and Portia had gone to the Quidditch pitch again to watch the team practise and Emily Yaxley was working on an essay, Calista took a walk to the Potions classroom. Next door to it, there was a door that Calista knew led to a short corridor, with his office on one side of it and his quarters on the other.

It felt a bit strange to be entering as a guest instead of a resident. Feeling a little awkward, Calista knocked on his office door.

"Come in," he called from beyond the door, and Calista pushed the door open. He was sitting at his desk, correcting what looked to be homework essays from her own class the previous day.

"Oh," she said, not sure why she felt awkward, "Are you busy?"

In answer, Severus set down his quill and stood up. crossed the hall to the door that led to his quarters, and indicated that she should follow.

Calista eased his office door shut, and followed him into the flat she had shared with him for five years. Nothing had really changed over the summer.

Severus motioned for Calista to take a seat at the small kitchen table. Since the room that would have been his sitting room had been converted into an extra bedroom for Calista, it was really the only place they could sit and chat.

Calista actually felt a little glad that he had evidently not restored the room to its original purpose.

Severus sat down at the table after Calista did, and brought his gaze to her face.

"Well," he said, "I gather you're enjoying your classes. Professor Flitwick stopped me in the hall on the way back from breakfast this morning to tell what a good Ravenclaw you'd make. I suppose he meant it as a compliment."

Calista sneered, perhaps not the reaction Severus was expecting, although he should have known better by now.

"And be in the same House as that Clearwater girl and her fat friend? I'd rather not."

"I take it that you and Miss Clearwater do not get along?"

Calista shrugged. "She's just a know-it-all."

Severus had to work to keep his expression neutral. He found it amusing that Calista would refer to another student in this light, when Flitwick had told him that Calista had already written him two extra-credit assignments.

"Well," he said, "Be that as it may, are you enjoying most of your classes?"

"I like Transfiguration," she said, "And Charms is okay, I guess. I don't care much for Herbology or History of Magic. Potions is my favourite, of course."

Severus quirked a brow. "I'd think you would find the class boring. Your own skills are fairly far ahead of the first-year curriculum.

Calista beamed at the compliment – coming from her father, it was high praise indeed.

"Yes, well," she said, "At least it's interesting. It makes me eager to learn more advanced potions."

Severus noted that she hadn't wasted her time trying to brush off his praise, or insist that she wasn't very far ahead of the class. Good. She _was_ much further along than any of them were.

"I don't think we will be covering a great deal of material that's new to you until fourth year or even later," he admitted. "Although… hm."

"What?" Calista cocked her head, and Severus studied her for a moment.

"Perhaps, if you are interested, I can teach you extra lessons on Saturdays."

This actually wasn't what Severus had been thinking of, but what had actually occurred to him was something best discussed with the Headmaster first. He had actually been wondering if Dumbledore would allow him to move Calista up to a fourth-year class, but he didn't want to get her hopes up yet.

Severus expected Calista to jump at the opportunity for extra lessons, since she was an eager student, and it would give them some time together without a classroom full of other students.

He was surprised when Calista answered him.

"Actually… I think Olivia wants me to go toe the Quidditch games with her, and they're mostly on Saturdays."

Severus convinced himself in mere seconds that his feelings weren't hurt.

"Ah yes, Miss Avril. Do you know much about her family?"

Calista tilted her head. "Uhm… she said she's got a second cousin who married a Muggle, or something like that."

It was a perfect leeway into another conversation Severus had been meaning to have with his daughter.

"I expect she's not exactly proud of that particular branch of her family tree?" he prodded.

Calista shook her head. "Not exactly… Father?"

Severus heard something in her tone that caused him to abandon whatever he had planned to say next.

"Yes?"

"I know I'm not a pureblood. But… what am I? I mean… how much… how many…?"

Severus knew exactly what she was asking, despite her apparent difficulty with the framing of the question. It was unusual. Calista was nearly always very direct, at least with him.

"My father was a Muggle," he answered tightly, "I do not believe your mother had any direct ancestors that were Muggles or Muggle-born witches or wizards."

There was an iciness to his answer that was multi-faceted. He didn't like to speak about his own father, but he also remembered that Bellatrix had often insinuated that he was somehow inferior because of his blood status.

Most of the time, he was fairly certain that the only reason Bella had engaged in a brief fling with him was because it would infuriate her husband, whom she resented having to marry since she was truly, at least according to popular opinion, in love with the Dark Lord.

"So," Calista interrupted his reverie, "That means I'm one-fourth Muggle?"

Severus frowned. "In a manner of speaking, I suppose so."

"Is that bad?"

Severus regarded her solemnly, his features tight. He was certain there was an answer to her question that he was supposed to give, as her father, but he didn't really know what it was. How to reconcile his own prejudices with his desire to ensure that she turned out as far from Bellatrix as possible?

"I suppose that depends on whom you're asking," he settled for, "Some of your classmates might tell you that it is. I, however, see nothing in you that would indicate that you have anything in common with your Muggle ancestors."

It was decidedly a sidestep from actually answering the question of Muggle inferiority. It was also another compliment he paid his daughter, but then again, she had not known Tobias Snape, so she could not know how well it spoke of her character, to Severus' mind, to have nothing in common with her grandfather.

As if she'd read his mind, Calista asked him another question.

"What was your father like?"

Severus gritted his teeth. He supposed he'd known the question would come eventually.

"He was a talentless brute, and he didn't care for anything or anyone, least of all his family."

Another child's expression would have softened, and the questioning would likely be at an end, but not Calista.

"What about your mother?"

Severus was no longer seeing his daughter before him, was instead caught up in memories of his own unpleasant childhood.

"She meant well, I suppose, but she was… weak. She never stood up to him, even when she could have knocked him flat with magic."

Severus was jolted back to the present by something unexpected; his daughter's arms around him. At first, he mistook her affection for pity, and recoiled, but when he caught sight of her expression, he reconsidered.

Calista had left her chair and come to stand by his, hugging him. It was honestly a gesture that was rare for them, though not unheard of.

The expression on her face wasn't one of pity, though. He wasn't sure what to categorize it as, but the closest he could come was anger.

"My opinion of mothers in general seems to decline all the time," she said, and Severus pushed her away slightly, his tone firm.

"No," he said, "You misunderstand me. My mother had her faults, but in the end, she was still my mother. Bellatrix was never a mother to you. No one who abuses their child the way she abused you deserves that title."

It was the first time that Severus had directly alluded to the fact that Calista was a victim of child abuse, and she felt oddly light after hearing it. Of course she had always known, and Severus had made it clear, that Bellatrix's treatment of her was wrong.

Still, having the ability to categorize it as something that had a clear name, that others had dealt with as well, helped.

Perhaps it was this unexpected relief of a burden that caused Calista to say what she did next.

"Were you ever in love with her? With my… with Bellatrix?"

The question seemed to have come from nowhere, and Severus wished it had stayed there. His expression never wavered, however.

"No," he said simply.

Calista would have liked to ask him a few more questions, but there was something dangerous in his eyes that warned her not to pry any further.

She was struck, not for the first time, by the unfair balance between herself and her father, where he knew almost everything about her, and she knew almost nothing about him.

Looking at her father now though, she knew this was not the time to discuss it.

"I'm sorry," she said, and she wasn't sure exactly what she was apologizing for. It wasn't really in her nature to be contrite.

Severus stood up, and Calista took it as her cue to leave. Just as he was seeing her out of his quarters, he said one last thing, a peace offering of sorts.

"You scored top marks on your homework, by the way."

Calista smirked, a gesture that was highly reminiscent of his own reaction to being given the same news almost twenty years before, but he didn't see the similarity.

"I expected I would," she said simply, and left the room, closing the door behind her.


	4. Year 1: Chapter 4

**Chapter Four:**

_Calista was running over a field of broken glass. She could hear the crunch of it beneath her weight, felt shards slicing the bottoms of her feet, but she was blind to the pain._

_She twisted her head, looked over her shoulder – no. Bellatrix was closer, so close that Calista could feel the iciness that seemed to surround her._

_Calista tore her eyes away from the figure of her mother, looked instead at the ground of broken glass._

_Except, she wasn't running over broken glass. She was running over bone. Thousands and thousands of fragments of human bone, oily-slick with blood but still jagged and sharp enough to cut into her feet and ankles as she ran._

_A hand reached for her ankle, pulling her backwards – no! Calista struggled to pull free, looked over her shoulder again._

_And then she fell. Panicked and twisting, Calista looked towards her now-throbbing ankle, held in a death grip. It wasn't Bellatrix holding her back, but a skeletal hand, rising from the pile of bone she had been running across. _

_The hand was holding her fast, and more of them were rising up, gripping her wrists, her legs. One hand snaked up and grabbed her neck, and she couldn't breathe…_

_Reducto! She thought frantically, but it was no use. She didn't have her wand._

_A rolling, hoarse laugh invaded her senses, and she forgot, for just an instant, to panic because of the bony hand encircling her throat._

_Instead, she panicked because Bellatrix was hovering over her, wand pointed straight down to where Calista was held captive._

Crucio_, Bellatrix mouthed. Calista couldn't hear her voice, but she knew the form of the incantation on her lips all too well._

_There was pain, and it was so consuming that it overpowered everything else, and Calista was no longer aware of the skeletal hands holding her fast, of the cuts and scrapes on her feet, of anything but Bellatrix's madness._

_Calista heard one string of a whisper, and it came from faraway but it was in Bellatrix's voice._

_You are mine, Daughter._

--

Calista woke up screaming. She pressed her hands to her mouth, at first afraid that she would be alerting Bellatrix to her location, and then, as the reality of where she was sank in, afraid of waking up the other girls in her room.

She looked about, expecting with a sinking heart to see all of the girls bolt upright, staring at her like she belonged in the insanity ward of St. Mungo's.

It was quiet in the room, except for her own panicked breathing, and an occasional snore from Portia. Slowly, the realization came to Calista that she hadn't screamed aloud – haven't even made a sound.

She choked on a bitter laugh. Even in her sleep, she knew that crying out would only enrage and encourage Bellatrix.

Knowing that sleep was lost to her for the night, Calista slipped silently out of bed, and crept down the hall to the common room. She opened one of her textbooks almost at random, and forced herself to read even when the lines blurred. Anything, to keep sleep, and Bellatrix, at bay.

**o-o-o-o**

As Calista sat, morosely picking at a bowl of porridge topped with raisins, she could find nothing to be content with, except that it was Friday.

Her only class this morning was Potions, and since she was now dead tired after having been ripped from her sleep by another of her dreams, and spending the rest of the night studying, she was at least thankful for that small allowance from fate.

It took Olivia three tries to catch Calista's attention and remind her that they had to get to class.

"I don't think Professor Snape will tolerate _anyone_ being late to class, not even you," she said tartly, "So let's be on our way, shall we?"

Calista only nodded, not having the energy to speak, and gathered her cauldron and Potions book.

Only moments after Calista walked into Potions class, she knew she'd have to recant her gratitude for it being Friday, and thus an easy morning.

Her father – Professor Snape – had transcribed an ingredients list on the chalkboard at the head of the room for a Draught of Drowsiness.

It was a very mild sleeping potion that Calista had never made, but had taken plenty of times as a younger child, when she was too frightened by her nightmares to sleep, but her father had thought it unwise to give her anything stronger.

"You will work with a partner today. You have the length of the class period to complete your draught. This is a pass or a fail, so if I were you I'd pay careful attention to detail, because I will accept nothing short of perfection."

A flurry of whispers broke out between the students.

"Work with me, Calista," Olivia whispered, just as Calista had turned to her other side to ask Emily Yaxley to be her partner. Emily was better at Potions than Olivia, and Calista was so exhausted and anxious that she'd feel better if she had a partner she didn't have to watch so closely.

Calista turned away before even opening her mouth, and nodded to Olivia. Even this far into the school year, she knew which of her fellow students to remain on good terms with.

The week prior, Portia had offended Olivia somehow and was still shunned at mealtimes by the rest of the first-years. Calista had found cause to disagree with Olivia on a number of occasions, but each of them concerned something so minor that it had never outweighed the risk of becoming the outcast again.

Across the room, Percy Weasley had already been cajoled into working with Oliver Wood, who was solidly at the bottom of the class.

There was a whirl of a cloak, and then Professor Snape faced the class again, almost as an afterthought.

"I will assign partners," he said softly.

He assigned Emily with Lucas Slater, a Gryffindor, but then paired most of the rest of the students with members of their own house. When the last four students left were herself, Olivia, Wood, and Weasley, Calista was glad she hadn't snubbed Olivia to ask Emily to be partners, since they'd be paired together anyway.

"Mr. Wood and Miss Avril will work together, I think. Calista, you are paired with Mr. Weasley."

Calista nearly dropped her cauldron on her foot in her shock, but recovered just in time. She looked up at her father, but his eyes were utterly unreadable, his expression grim.

Percy crossed the room and spread his ingredients out on the table, looking no happier with the arrangement than she felt about it.

Deciding to just ignore him, and ignore the fact that her father had paired her with him for this assignment, she set to chopping her dandelion roots in precise, even pieces.

Beside her, Percy methodically ground trolls' teeth into a fine powder. For several long moments, the only sounds between them were the steady chop-chopping of her knife, and the hushed grinding sound between Percy's mortar and pestle.

Calista cleared her throat, and set her knife down, turning to Percy.

"My cauldron is better quality," she said, "It'll distribute the heat more evenly, so we'll use it for our potion. But can I use yours to stew the dandelion roots in?"

Percy blinked, and then nodded, pushing his cauldron from his far side to the space between where he and Calista worked.

"Of course, help yourself."

Calista used her wand to fill the cauldron partway with a jet of clear water, and put the cauldron over a flame. Since it was a magical flame, and she was only heating water and not volatile or temperamental potions ingredients, the water boiled within a minute.

She selected a small mesh bag from her potions supplies and stuffed the dandelion roots into it, cinching and tying off the top, and then dropped the bag into the water, leaving the end of the string dangling over the lip of the cauldron, like a teabag.

"Thanks," she finally remembered to say, belatedly, to Percy. It felt awkward, to thank a Gryffindor for anything.

"Oh, you're welcome," Percy said automatically, glancing up. He caught sight of her dandelion teabag and glanced around the room, ascertaining that they were the only pair with such a setup.

"That's a good idea," he offered, and Calista thought he still sounded too eagerly friendly, "Since it preserves the roots in a more pristine condition until they're added to the rest of the draught."

Calista cut him a sideways look.

"I know what it does," she said shortly, "I'm the one that did it."

Percy looked wounded, and then he turned back to his troll teeth, which were already ground quite fine enough. Sighing, he set the powder aside, and began slicing mayweed stems lengthwise.

While the dandelion roots stewed, Calista took it upon herself to prepare the rest of the ingredients, besides the trolls' teeth and the mayweed.

As she prepared the final ingredient, four sopophorous beans, by crushing them with the flat of her blade, Percy was left with nothing to do.

He made to lift the dandelion roots out of the cauldron to check on them, but Calista glared at him in a manner so reminiscent of her father, that he couldn't help but glance around the room to make sure that the professor still had an alibi.

He did, and it involved glowering over the cauldron that Olivia Avril and Oliver Wood were sharing, and denouncing the way their roots were handled, as well as the way their mayweed was sliced.

"I'm keeping track of them," Calista assured him icily, and Percy was taken aback, and huffed in irritation.

Professor Snape chose that moment, of course, to walk by them and inspect their cauldron. Since Calista had several of the ingredients in her possession, Percy hadn't been able to start the first part of the mixture, and their cauldron was empty.

Percy braced himself, but Snape simply moved on, without a word.

Calista extinguished the flame beneath Percy's cauldron, and worked against the clock to get the other steps of the potion completed. If the dandelion roots cooled off too much, they'd be just as useless as if she had let them continue to boil.

"You know, if you'd allowed me to do more than smash things, I could have prepared this part for you, so you could just add the dandelion roots right away." Percy pointed out.

Calista was quiet for a moment, and then she noticed Olivia watching their exchange intently, her own potion momentarily forgotten and decidedly the wrong colour. Wood frantically tried to fix it by dumping more trolls' teeth in, but Calista could tell even from here there were already too many.

"Well," Calista said snidely, cutting a brief glance at Olivia, "I wanted it done right. I'm not going to fail just because I was paired with a bone-headed Gryffindor."

Olivia smirked, looking smug. Calista was so caught up in observing this, and then in Olivia and Wood's potion slowly bubble over the top of their cauldron while Wood frantically tried everything to make it recede again, that she quite missed Percy's reaction.

His face flushed red, and then went pale. He opened his mouth and then closed it. And then he decided that he was never going to try to be friendly to a Slytherin again.

Percy and Calista achieved top marks on their potion, but Percy couldn't even be glad for it, since he hadn't been allowed to help.

Just as they had cleaned up their supplies, and Percy swept out of the room without so much as a backward glance, Calista heard herself being summoned to the head of the room, where Professor Snape stood, supervising the clean-up of some of the more catastrophic mistakes of the class period.

"Calista," he called softly, but in a voice that brooked no argument, "You will remain after class for a moment."

Calista nodded, although his gaze was no longer on her, but on Olivia's retreating back as she left the dungeons, leaving Wood to clean up the mess both of them had made.

When there was no one left in the dungeon classroom besides father and daughter, Severus placed his hand on Calista's shoulder and guided her towards his office. Inside, he closed the door, and took a seat behind his desk.

Calista took the remaining chair, facing him.

"Why did you pair me with Weasley?" she asked, without preamble.

Severus levelled his unreadable gaze at her, and waited an infuriating moment to answer.

"Because he has the highest marks in the class, after yourself," he answered, and he almost sounded tired, beneath the snappish overtones.

"What about Emily?" she challenged, although even she didn't know why she was bothering, since before being assigned partners she had been about to work with Olivia.

"Miss Yaxley ranks third in the class, after Mr. Weasley," he said, and then waved his hand as though it was of no importance. "But it doesn't matter, evidently, who you are partnered with, since you will insist on doing all the work anyway."

"I wanted it done r—" Calista began, and Severus interrupted her.

"I assure you that Mr. Weasley is just as capable of producing a Drowsiness Draught as you are," he said, "Which is precisely why I paired you together."

"If we both could have done it, why make us work as a team?" she challenged. Even as the words came out of her mouth, Calista asked herself silently why she was fighting him.

She didn't really care anymore who she'd been paired with, since the class was over and she'd passed. Why, when it came to her father, did she always want to argue with him?

"I'd assumed – correctly, I can see – that you hadn't slept well last night. I thought you'd appreciate a class in which you _didn't_ have to scrape your friend Miss Avril's mark up off the floor with your own efforts, but I can see that I was mistaken."

Silence.

Finally, "How did you know I didn't sleep well?"

There was no use denying it; whenever Severus professed to know anything, no matter how improbable the knowledge was for him to come by, he _did_ know it. Calista knew this well enough by now.

He looked slightly surprised for a fraction of a second, or perhaps only exasperated.

"You were calling out last night."

It took her a moment of processing, of remembering that she hadn't made a sound, to realize what he meant.

Calista scowled and focused her gaze on her fingernails. "I wasn't trying to."

"I gathered that," he said, outwardly emotionless, "Which is why I didn't storm the Slytherin dormitories to make sure you were all right."

In that moment, for no reason she could name, Calista felt like crying. It would have been such a relief, like peeling the dead skin off an old wound, but she wouldn't. Not in front of her father, who placed such a high regard on self-control.

"So," Severus said, after another long silence, "_Are_ you all right?"

She briefly considered lying, but he would know, so there wasn't much point other than further antagonizing him.

"I had another… dream," she said haltingly, "But… truly, just a dream. You don't need to worry."

"Are you certain that's all it was?"

"Yes," she answered too quickly.

Severus raised an eyebrow, and Calista was obligated to elaborate.

"It wasn't like… before," she said, unwilling even to verbalize Bellatrix's attack on her mind, "It really was just a nightmare."

Severus fixed his eyes on Calista's face for a long moment.

"I am not going to force you to tell me about your nightmares, if you don't want to," he said at last, "But when you have a dream that seems unusual, or that you awake from and still feel that something isn't right, you _must_ tell me, immediately."

"'When'? Don't you mean 'if'?"

"No, I don't," Severus answered, smoothing a small stack of papers on his desk, "Bellatrix will attempt to harm you again, whether it is tomorrow or in ten years' time. As long as she lives, you are in danger."

"Can't we just kill her and then I can stop worrying?" Calista muttered.

Severus made a rude noise and disrupted some of the papers on his desk.

"Do you think, if it were that simple, that it wouldn't already have been done?"

Calista shivered, because something in her father's tone reminded her of how he had met Bellatrix in the first place: they had both been part of the Dark Lord's inner circle. Which meant that her father was just as capable of torture and murder as her mother was.

Her eyes wandered from his face to scan the shelves of books behind him. Half of them were tomes of Dark magic. On the shelves of her father's personal library, Calista imagined she could find the methods to kill Bellatrix a thousand times over.

Or to kill anyone, really.

**o-o-o-o**

The truth was, Severus had never wanted Calista, at least not in the abstract sense.

If he had know, when he serviced Bellatrix as a lover, that their union would produce a child, he never would have done what he did, and he would have been doubly loathe to it if he had truly understood the cruelties that Bellatrix would impose on that child.

It had been shortly after his initiation into the Dark Lord's circle, and only almost as shortly after his fateful argument with Lily Evans.

He had been hurting, metaphorically licking his wounds, because all of his attempts to reconcile with Lily had been fruitless. It had seemed, even from that early stage, that she was cutting her ties to him completely.

Bellatrix was beautiful in those days, and evil or not, she had always been magnetic. She had been twenty-three, and everyone knew she was dissatisfied with her new husband. She was cold and cruel, but she was a very talented witch, and had brains to match her exquisite figure.

At sixteen, resentful after his first true heartbreak, and already far too deep in a dark organization that he could never safely back out of, Severus had felt overwhelmed. He was talented, brilliant, and corruptible. And to Bellatrix, who seemed determined to prove to Rodolphus that she had no love for him, Severus was also easy prey.

Bellatrix, who at first was intoxicating because of her madness, soon became tiresome and frightening because of the very same thing. She and Severus had only carried on a handful of times before she had moved on, and he had left her bed feeling quite possibly worse about himself than ever before.

He had stopped trying to reconcile with Lily after that. He had felt, somehow, that he no longer deserved her.

Bellatrix had taken so many lovers during that time that when she became quite obviously pregnant, it hadn't even occurred to Severus that the child could be his.

At first, he had assumed she was pregnant with her husband's child, but then perhaps six months after she gave birth, Rodolphus was killed in battle and Bella had begun spouting some madness about the Dark Lord having fathered her daughter.

Of course, everyone knew this was not the case, and when she was called out, she said instead that it didn't matter who had fathered the child; it only mattered that the girl was raised in the proper tradition.

She boasted that her daughter would become the Dark Lord's most reassured servant, but as it turned out, the Dark Lord had no interest in infants.

This had left Bellatrix in a bad position, but she had made the best of it in her twisted way, and taken to raising the child herself, still with the intention of committing the girl to Voldemort's service at the first opportunity.

This was the part that everyone had known.

Once, she had brought the child with her to a meeting of the Death Eaters. She had been punished, since the Dark Lord had already made his utter lack of interest in Bella's baby clear.

It was the glimpse of a small, dark head that first unsettled Severus. If he had begun to suspect at that point in time, that the child might be his, he had not admitted it to himself yet.

Instead, the idea had festered within him for years, a seed of doubt that was nourished even through his darkest times, when he lost the only woman he had ever loved.

He had a dream, only months after the Potters had been killed and the Dark Lord had vanished. In it, he was married to Lily, and they had a child. She handed the child to him, and he looked down to see that it was wearing Bella's face.

The next day, he had gone to Albus Dumbledore, and asked about Bellatrix's child. A day and a half later, he met Calista. The instant he saw her face, he knew – because she looked like him, far more than she looked like Bellatrix. She had his nose (for which he pitied her), and his complexion, and his eyes, which was perhaps the most startling thing of all.

When he had asked Dumbledore about the child, he had not intended to take her home. He had only intended to ensure that she was alive, was doing all right. After all, Bellatrix was in Azkaban, and he doubted there was anyone else that would think of checking in on her child.

He had hoped to avoid the question of parentage altogether, because if the child's father was unknown, then she could remain nothing to him; but if he knew that he was her father, there would be a whole new set of decisions to be made, decisions Severus didn't care to think about.

And then he had seen her, and the decision had been made for him. She was most assuredly his, and beneath the malicious hostility in her dark, dark eyes, he had seen in that first instant that she desperately needed him.

He hadn't planned on having children, and he most certainly hadn't planned on being a single father. Almost every day, he questioned whether he had truly done the right thing, because he knew he wasn't affectionate enough, or understanding enough, or even kind enough to constitute a good parent.

Only, as it turned out, it wasn't affection, or understanding, or even kindness that Calista needed. It was acceptance, and persistence, and protection.

Acceptance, because at her tender age she was terribly scarred, but she didn't have the ability or the inclination to ask for help. Persistence, because she was a prisoner of her own personality. Protection because, as long as her mother lived, she would never be safe.

Now, years later, Severus still didn't want a child. He would never tell Calista, because she wouldn't, couldn't understand. It wasn't because he didn't love her that he wished she'd never been born; it was because he loved her so powerfully that he could not stand to see her suffer.

She was far too young to be aware of all the things she was aware of, and in the end, she would have to choose one of two paths for her life: She would either spend her childhood learning how to kill her mother, or her mother would destroy her first.

Severus did not know which would be worse for the girl's soul. What he did know was that Calista was part of his life now – was, in fact, most of it – and he would guide her towards the path that might at least save his own soul, even if it did nothing for hers.

For if Bellatrix succeeded in killing Calista, it would rend his soul as if he had committed a thousand murders.


	5. Year 1: Chapter 5

**Chapter Five:**

"Bloody hell! Look at that bloke – did you see that? Foul!" Olivia Avril howled, shaking her fist in the direction of the Quidditch pitch. She shook Calista's shoulder to get her attention.

"Yeah, what a git," Calista said absently, still furiously scribbling on a scrap of parchment, a textbook open on her lap.

The first Quidditch match of the season was a Gryffindor-Slytherin match, which meant that the stands were full and tension was high. Every single pair of eyes – save one – was fixed on the action in the pitch.

Instead of watching the action, Calista Snape crossed out a diagram she had just spent twenty minutes drawing, and started from scratch, referring to an index of her textbook intermittently.

Frustrated, Calista pulled the mitten off of her left hand with her teeth, and wrapped the fingers of that hand again around her quill.

Ever since writing the essay on the Silencing Charm for Professor Flitwick, Calista had been intrigued. This was only the latest in a string of days that she had dedicated to researching the implications she had seen in the story of Casseiopia's discoveries.

When magic wands had first been introduced as a mainstream tool for wizardry, countless rituals and incantations had been adapted for use with the new tool. The ritualistic dance once used to perform a Silencing Charm had been adapted, along with a lot of other similar rituals, into a simple incantation and wrist movement.

Calista wondered if there was any way to do the opposite: to take a spell performed with a wand, and find a way it perform it without.

She knew that some very skilled wizards could deliberately perform certain spells without their wands, but they would always be disadvantaged in a duel against an opponent that was armed.

But what if there was a way to use another tool besides a wand – say, a series of movements, as in the original Silencing Charm?

Calista knew that working backwards like this would be useless in most circumstances. There wasn't much point in performing a five-minute dance when you could just as easily wave your wand.

Except, Calista remembered that Bellatrix was extremely skilled at Disarming.

The stands erupted in noise, and Calista blinked and looked up, distracted from her studies. The Slytherin spectators were cheering and jumping up and down, but most of the others looked disheartened.

"Come on," Olivia said, grabbing Calista's elbow and knocking her parchment and textbook down, "Let's go congratulate the team!"

Olivia rolled her eyes while Calista gathered her things, and by the time she had it all together, Olivia was already part of the crowd surrounding the players. Calista started in that direction, but then shrugged and went back into the castle instead.

She really didn't understand the attraction to the sport – and she hated flying. She hadn't even done it until Flying Class, and although she'd acted like she was just bored, the truth was that she was afraid of heights.

She'd rather die than let Olivia or any of the others find that out, though. Marcus Flint was always pestering her to try out for Reserve Seeker, because of her size, but she kept telling him she was too busy with her studies, rather than admitting the truth.

Calista made her way to the common room, and opened her textbook, planning to continue her research, but then an explosion of noise in the corridor erupted, steadily growing in volume and proximity until it occupied the common room.

Well. It appeared as though the Slytherins wanted to celebrate their Quidditch victory. Calista closed her book and slipped it under her arm, intending to carry it to the Potions classroom, where peace and quiet was assured on a Saturday afternoon.

As she made her way towards the door though, a hand caught her elbow, causing her to drop her book, and she spun around, prepared to be furious.

It was Marcus Flint that had caught her elbow, but he had done so at the behest of Olivia, who was pushing through the crowd of green-clad celebrators to reach Calista.

"Come on, Snape," Olivia goaded, "Have a little fun. You don't need to study 'round the clock."

Marcus Flint nodded, although Calista doubted his ability to even understand what he was bobbing his head in agreement to, thick as he was.

"That's easy for you to say," Calista muttered, "You're nearly failing Potions."

"What?" Olivia shook her head, indicating that she couldn't hear over the music that had begun blasting through the common room.

Calista looked around, saw smiles on every face but her own, and shook her head.

"Nothing," she said, and picked up her book only to abandon it on a study table, and join the revelries.

**o-o-o-o**

As the winter holidays approached, the castle suddenly became host to all sorts of fascinating creatures. Trees bedecked with garlands and ribbons stood sentry in several corners, only to move down the hall or to another level entirely when they got bored.

Flitwick had procured several red and green fairies to flit about his classroom singing Christmas carols, and Professor Sprout had even managed to catch a garden gnome in one of the greenhouses, and stuck a St. Nicholas cap on it.

There wasn't any snow outside, but that hardly seemed to matter, since there was so much merriment inside the castle.

Flitwick and Sprout gave the students a break, and didn't assign any homework to be due at the end of the Christmas Break, but McGonagall and Snape both seemed determined to provide extra homework to make up for the week of missed classes.

Calista didn't really mind the Potions homework, but Transfiguration was proving challenging for her. She had an entire week now to transform a pot into a kettle and write twelve inches of parchment on how she had done it, and she suspected she'd need the all that time.

Somehow, things never went quite right for her in McGonagall's class. She was so used to being at the top of the class in all her other subjects that it frustrated her to no end to be solidly in the middle of this one.

The Head of Gryffindor often accused her of trying too hard and overcomplicating it, but Calista didn't see how trying any _less_ was going to produce better results.

She considered asking McGonagall for extra help after class, but this early in the year, she usually only offered it to students who were really struggling, and Calista was at least passing.

Besides, she was proud, and didn't want to give the Gryffindor Head the satisfaction of asking for help.

She decided instead to seek help from her father. He might be a stern and strict teacher, but at least she was comfortable learning from him, and knew what to expect.

Since Christmas was on a Friday that year, students only had to attend class on Monday and Tuesday of that week. On Wednesday, those who wished to go home for the holidays were excused until the Monday following New Year's Day.

Severus had only made arrangements to lease their flat during the summer months, so Calista was going to be staying at Hogwarts for the holiday.

A few days before term recessed for the holidays, Calista found herself glumly contemplating that she'd have no one but her cat to spend the break with.

"It won't be that bad," Emily Yaxley had said, in a rare show of friendship, "We'll be back before you know it."

"There's to be a feast on Christmas Day," Olivia had added, "Of course, it won't be anything like the one Mother's having at our townhouse in Bearsden, but I'm sure you'll enjoy it."

Calista had picked up on the slight, but one glance at miserable Portia MacNair had been sufficient to restrain her from commenting on it.

"Yeah," she had said flatly, "I'm sure it will be great."

**o-o-o-o**

Calista had never had friends to purchase Christmas presents for before, so she really had no idea what she was supposed to do.

She had always drawn pictures for her father's Christmas gift, and even though he had hung them all up in his office (at least when she was younger – she noticed there weren't any there now – but maybe he was sparing her the humiliation of having them seen by students that were now her classmates) she felt far too old at eleven to continue the trend.

This year, she wanted to get her father a real gift, not a scribbled drawing of a cat. This was especially true now that Severus had made his true feelings about Calista's cat Yellow known (he despised the thing, and had tolerated its presence entirely for Calista's sake).

Calista did receive a small allowance from her father, which she used almost exclusively for purchasing books. Since a month into the term though, she had been saving the money instead, to use for Christmas gifts.

It was still a strange concept to her, since holidays with her father had always been a muted affair. Usually, he took her to a bookstore, or to the Apothecary, and let her pick something.

She had mentioned this to Olivia, who had burst out laughing and congratulated Calista on the good joke, before going on describe her own holiday yields of dresses and toys, and even, one year, a pony. She hadn't mentioned it again.

So she still had no idea what was expected of her, but Olivia had dropped strong hints that she was giving gifts to all of the first-year girls, even Portia.

Calista was pretty certain that Olivia had spread the word in the hopes that the girls would feel obligated to return the favour, but she didn't want to be the only one not to.

First-years weren't allowed to visit Hogsmeade, although Calista was fairly certain she could have convinced her father to take her on a weekend anyway.

She felt oddly embarrassed about asking him to take her into the village to buy Christmas gifts though, because it would be alluding to the fact that she'd never had to do it before.

Instead, she'd found an ad in the _Daily Prophet_ for a gift catalogue, and had requested it. She'd found things for her friends, but there wasn't much in the book of fairly clichéd gifts that she thought would interest her father.

The question of what to give her father for Christmas haunted Calista for weeks. When the parcels she had ordered for her friends were delivered, and she wrapped them clumsily in green paper, she still didn't know what to get for him.

She considered buying him a book, but she didn't know of any he wanted and didn't already have. He had all sorts of potions ingredients and paraphernalia at his disposal. In truth, Calista was hard-pressed to think of _anything _he'd be interested in, and didn't already own, that she could obtain.

She racked her brain, knowing that she was running out of time. What could she give him that he didn't already have?

And then, five days before Christmas, she knew.

She cursed herself for not thinking of it sooner, hoping fervently that she'd have enough time to do what she wanted to. She knew she was cutting it close, but the catalogue did say they had twenty-four hour express delivery.

On Tuesday morning, when a huge parcel arrived for her, she found herself for once thankful that Severus didn't often eat breakfast in the Great Hall.

If he had seen the huge package that was air-dropped into Calista's porridge, he surely would have asked questions. As it was, she wondered if he had noticed the absence his owl when she'd used it to place the order.

Now she only had to pretend, until Christmas morning, that she hadn't gotten him anything. The surprise was half of the gift, after all.

**o-o-o-o**

Since all of the Slytherin first-years but Calista were going home for the holidays, the students agreed to exchange presents on Wednesday morning, before everyone else left.

Calista had purchased a set of bright, pretty hair ribbons for Olivia, who seemed to like them, although she had fished around in the wrapping as though expecting there should be more.

For Emily, who Calista had noticed took an awful lot of notes in class, she had purchased a set of quills which were pre-filled with several differently-coloured inks, thinking they'd be useful for colour-coding her notes.

She'd gotten Portia a box of Chocolate Frogs, partly because she didn't know the girl well enough to know what else to get her, and partly because she found it ironically amusing; Portia, who had probably already had a few Chocolate Frogs too many this holiday season, and was starting to show it.

Emily had gotten each of them a set of Gobstones in a different colour, which Olivia had stuck up her nose at, but Calista had actually been rather grateful for.

She had liked to play against phantom opponents when she was young, and had been rather good at it, as far as one can be while playing against oneself, but over the years she'd lost most of them, and hadn't bothered asking for more since she only played against herself anyway.

Portia, no doubt in an attempt to please Olivia solely, had given each girl a small silver-plated hand-mirror; Calista made the same face at the mirror that Olivia had made at the Gobstones.

Olivia passed her gifts out last. She gave each girl a tiny silver gift bag tied with green-and-gold ribbons. Calista opened hers to find a pair of very pretty silver filigree earrings, and looked up to see that Emily had gotten a similar pair.

She caught sight of a wounded expression on Portia's face, and looked down at her hands. She had an identical beribboned silver bag, but she had pulled a small bottle from hers instead of jewellery.

"It's a Slimming Solution," Olivia announced very loudly, "It's from a very posh health shop Mother fancies. I'm sure it will help you loads, Portia."

There was an awkward silence, during which Portia sniffled an awful lot and tried to pass it off as her usual runny nose, and Olivia tried to catch Calista's eye to share in cruel laughter.

Only, Calista didn't feel much like laughing, because she understood a bit how Portia felt.

Calista didn't even have pierced ears.

She had thought of Olivia as her best friend, and the other girl hadn't even noticed that Calista couldn't w_ear_ earrings.

Emily was busy putting her own earrings on. She tilted her head this way and that, and Olivia smiled and deemed the earrings to suit Emily very nicely.

Calista leapt up and began clearing all the wrappings from the presents, so no one would ask her why she hadn't tried hers on.

In the end, her friends had almost been right: the holidays might still seem long with no one to keep her company, but she was actually glad to see them go that afternoon.

**o-o-o-o**

The next day, Calista was entirely consumed with her father's Christmas present. There was a lot of planning and preparation involved with it, and in the end she'd had to nick a few things from around the school, too.

She was so absorbed, in fact, in thinking about his gift that she hadn't noticed when Severus had come over to where she was sitting in the Great Hall, eating lunch, until he tapped her shoulder lightly.

Calista looked up, a guilty look spreading over her features automatically; just as quickly as it appeared, she had schooled it away. She hoped he hadn't seen it.

Severus eyed her a moment before he spoke, which led her to believe that he _had_ noticed her expression, and was wondering what had caused it. At any rate, if he did notice, he decided not to ask her about it.

"I'm going to be experimenting with a new potion this afternoon," he said, and then glanced at the nearly-empty Slytherin table. "You can come and watch, if you'd like."

It was a touching throwback to the days when they'd both lived in his Professors' quarters at Hogwarts and she had been a shadow by his side in his workroom, sometimes fetching him ingredients or stirring one thing for him while he worked on another.

Any other day, Calista would have been thrilled to join him, especially since all of the other students that she was actually somewhat friendly with were gone; but she had a lot of preparation to do for his gift, still.

"Uhm," she said, grasping at the first excuse that came to her mind, "I have a lot of homework. Transfiguration."

"Ah," he said, "I suppose the potion can wait, if you still need me to help you."

Calista nearly cursed under her breath. She had forgotten that she'd already asked him for help in Transfiguration. Luckily, she was an extremely good liar when she needed to be, a skill she was just as likely to have inherited from him as from her mother.

"Actually, I finally figured it out. I just need time to finish up the essay part. And I have Charms homework, too."

She added this last part for good measure, and realized a fraction of a second too late that he had probably already heard from Professor Flitwick himself that the Charms teacher had let them go without homework over the break.

Severus didn't say anything about it, though, if he knew.

"I see," he said curtly, "Good luck, then."

He was gone before Calista even realized that she'd sounded as if she was just looking for excuses not to spend time with him.

Which she was. Just for entirely different reasons than he thought. And now she was doubly shafted, because she still _did_ need help with Transfiguration.

Cursing herself, Calista finished her lunch in record time and then raced back to the deserted Slytherin common room. At the very least, she had better make this worth it.

She worked through the afternoon and evening, and midnight found her creeping through the dungeons, engaged in absolutely last-minute preparations.

Twice, she heard shuffling in the corridors and dreaded finding Mrs. Norris, Argus Filch's old scruffy cat, around the next corner, but both times it turned out to be mice.

It was probably the first time in her life that she was relieved to have heard rodents.

**o-o-o-o**

Christmas Day dawned cold and clear, and when it did, Calista was very nearly asleep in one of the two kitchen chairs in her father's quarters.

She shook herself awake. It had been next to impossible to sneak into Severus' quarters in the dead of night; she had only achieved it because she knew which spells he used on the locks, and even so she had very nearly set off one of his alarm spells.

She would never forgive herself if she ruined the whole surprise by falling asleep before she could give it to him.

Calista waited, allowing her father to sleep what she judged to be perhaps an hour past dawn, but was really only a quarter of an hour at best.

When she couldn't stand waiting anymore, she waved her wand over the kitchen table, revealing what she had earlier hidden there, and tiptoed towards the doorway to his room.

She knew better than to wake him up suddenly (he'd probably think he was under attack and curse first, asking questions later) so she tapped very lightly on the door, and waited a moment.

Hearing nothing from within, she tapped again, and waited. The third time, she heard him stirring, and grinned to herself – a rare expression – with anticipation. She couldn't wait to see how he reacted.

When she was sure that he was awake or close to it, Calista called through the door, softly.

"Father?"

There was a brief silence, and then:

"Calista? Are you all right?"

He sounded rather tired himself, as if he had been up the entire night too, but then again, she _had_ just woken him from a sound sleep.

"Yes, I'm fine. I just want – Can you come look at something for me?"

"Calista it's –," there was a pause during which he must have been checking the clock in his bedroom, "six-thirty in the morning."

"Yes, I know," she said simply, and she heard him muttering, heard rustling of the bedclothes as he rose. She stepped back from the door, retreating into his study to wait for him.

Severus emerged from his room a moment later, remarkably clear-eyed. It was quite dark in the dungeons no matter what time of day it was, so he lit his wand.

"Calista, what—," he stopped short at the sight that greeted him.

The hallway was lined with Christmas garlands and holly boughs. Red and green and gold ribbons were tied into pretty bows and stuck onto the walls with a Sticking Charm.

The door to his study was ajar, and he could see light coming from within it. Taking two steps forward, he pushed the door open. The study was just as laboriously decorated as the halls, with green garlands strung up across the bookshelves.

The light was coming from a Christmas tree in the corner, dotted with hundreds of minute blue and white lights that he ascertained to be tiny, contained tongues of witchfire.

Standing in the middle of all this, and looking very proud of herself was Calista. Her eyes were bright, and had a slight darkness around them that indicated a lack of sleep, and her hair was tangled as usual, but her smile was nearly as bright as the lights on the Christmas tree.

A great number of things passed through Severus' mind in that instant, and he chose one of them at random to say:

"How in Merlin's name did you get a Christmas tree into the castle dungeons?"

Calista at least looked slightly contrite when she confessed, "I, uhm, borrowed it from the second level hallway."

Severus took a breath.

"And you… made all the lights?"

Calista nodded, the pride creeping back into her face. It had been an awful lot of difficult Charms work, and it had taken her most of the night.

"There's more," she said, and slipped past him, across the hall and into the kitchen.

When Severus didn't immediately move, his gaze still caught almost hungrily on the Christmas tree, Calista tugged his hand gently and led him into the kitchen.

This room was decorated just as lavishly as the rest of the flat, but there was something else, too.

The little table was piled high with toast and several different jams, bacon, sausage, sugared porridge, and French-style croissants. There were also two cups of tea and two glasses of eggnog.

In place of pride, there was also a tray of biscuits cut into the shapes of Christmas trees and wreaths, and iced with green icing.

Severus' eyes shone in a peculiar manner for a moment, as he surveyed the lavish, festive Christmas morning that he had never seen firsthand in childhood, that Calista had somehow guessed he'd always missed.

"Most of the stuff I nicked from the kitchens," Calista said, unable to contain herself, "But I made the biscuits myself. That's why they're sort of messy-looking."

She'd added the last part as an afterthought, but Severus had barely heard it. He pulled his daughter into a rare embrace, and said two words that made Calista feel that all of her sneaking around and hard work had been worth it.

"Thank you."

After a moment, the embrace grew awkward for both of them, but it didn't really matter anymore. They sat down at the table and ate until they were both very full. Severus didn't actually care for sweets much, but he ate three of the biscuits Calista had made.

It would have been too much to expect that they would laugh and chatter happily over the breakfast table, their cares forgotten, but in their case, perhaps it wasn't necessary. They spoke of her classes and his desire that she take up occlumency lessons again, all the usual things.

He asked her about the gifts she had exchanged with her friends (it turned out he _had_ noticed his owl being used), and she told him what she had given them.

"And I got some stupid mirror from Portia that I'm probably just going to chuck, she obviously only had Olivia in mind when she was shopping, but Emily got us each a new set of Gobstones. And I some stupid earrings from Olivia," she added in a rush, hoping he wouldn't question her about the latter, "She gave Portia a Slimming Solution though, said it was from some posh shop in London."

As she had intended, he didn't question her about the earrings, but he did comment on Olivia's gift to Portia.

"Why doesn't it surprise me that your friend Miss Avril must resort to buying simple potions at posh shops? If they'd install a shopping district at Hogwarts, I daresay she might pass my class."

Calista laughed darkly at this, which was rather the effect Severus had been aiming for.

"Oh, there is one other thing," Calista said, as they were finishing their breakfast, "I lied yesterday, about Transfiguration. I do still need help with the homework."

Severus held back a rare laugh at the half-guilty, half-hopeful expression that crossed her face.

"I suppose I can make time in my schedule," he said dryly.

After breakfast, Severus presented Calista with her Christmas gifts. He had gotten her a new Potions book, as well as a set of crystal phials to replace her glass ones.

All in all, it was the happiest Christmas Calista had ever had.

* * *

_Notes: For my fellow Americans, the biscuits referred to in this chapter are what we would call "cookies" - I'm trying to make the setting authentic. To my European readers, please correct me if I've overlooked any language/culture things._

_Also, I am aware of the fluff-content of this chapter, but I think I've managed to keep Severus believably in-character, given the circumstances. I'm guessing he didn't have many happy Christmases as a child, so I had to give him one._

_Finally, I hope you enjoyed the lightness of this chapter, because I'm afraid the next few will be a bit lacking in it by comparison ;)  
_


	6. Year 1: Chapter 6

**Chapter Six:**

Calista's first Christmas at Hogwarts was very nearly perfect. It was a pity, then, that the night contrasted so starkly.

She had woken in the wee hours of the morning from the dream of running over a field of bones, Bellatrix in her wake.

It had gone exactly like it had before, except that this time, Bellatrix was inexplicably waving a knife at her in an attempt to curse her with it, rather than a wand.

This time, she had actually screamed aloud, and when tears sprang to her eyes, she wrote them off as tears of relief that she was the only one in her dormitory that night.

She threw the covers off her bed, lit the lamps in the room, and stormed around the dormitory, not sure if she was angry at Bellatrix or at herself.

She was miles and years away from Bellatrix, and yet, in Calista's eyes, her mother was still winning, because even in the privacy of her dreams, Bellatrix was the victor over her.

She was ashamed that she had woken up screaming, and doubly so that the dream had caused her to cry. Why should a bloody dream make her cry, when she had so often endured Bellatrix's cruel treatment with nary a tear shed?

She considered, briefly, sneaking down the hall to her father, telling him about her dream. He would be able to tell her if it meant anything, if Bellatrix was trying to reach her somehow.

Except that, as Calista made her restless rounds about the dormitory, she couldn't stop her eyes from filling with tears. As she ruthlessly wiped them away with the back of her hand, she imagined appearing before her father in such a pitiful state, and thought with only a modicum of sarcasm that she'd rather die.

Instead, she threw herself onto the floor next to her bed, and slammed both of her fists on her mattress so hard that they rebounded nearly hard enough to hit her in the face.

"Leave me alone, you stupid bitch!" she screamed, her voice thick with tears, "Just leave me alone!"

Reflecting, Calista couldn't say what made her react so strongly on this night; perhaps it _was_ simply because the prior day had been so categorically perfect; or perhaps this sleepless night was one too many.

It was particularly distressing to the young girl that Bellatrix made her most fearsome appearances in her dreams, a place where she most wanted to be safe.

It would have been a very small comfort to Calista to know that she wasn't the only one in the castle who spent the rest of that night awake and unsettled.

**o-o-o-o**

At the very same moment that Calista woke up screaming, Severus woke with a start as well. At first, he thought that he had heard a scream for help, and threw his covers off, prepared to leap into action.

Then, he realized that he hadn't heard a sound, but rather had felt Calista's distress in his mind.

It was certainly not the first time that he had been disturbed from his slumbers by a mental calling-out from his daughter, but he still had to calm the beating of his heart just the same.

He analysed the feeling in his mind, and there was now only a small hint of Calista, a ripple on the surface of a great lake on a day with the smallest of winds; she was upset, but he didn't think she was in danger.

Ever since the first time Severus had delved wholly into his daughter's mind, and discovered the alarming quantity of disturbing memories within it, he had been somehow linked to her, able to tell when she was deeply afraid.

Since he had never felt or heard of such a bond between two people before, despite his incredibly extensive background in Legilimancy and Occlumency, he wasn't certain if their bond was because of their genetic relationship, or their history.

He had never entered anyone's mind in as thorough and intimate a manner as he had Calista's, but then again, he had never performed _Legilimens_ on another person to whom he was related by blood before, so he couldn't say with any certainty what had differentiated their bond.

Whatever the reason, Severus felt that his ability to pick up signals from his daughter's mind without trying was a double-edged sword.

He was alerted whenever she experienced extreme fear; and though he was thankful for the ability in case there was ever an occasion where she was in need of his intervention, the reality was that she was afraid far more often than she actually needed his help, and he was hard-pressed not to run to her in the middle of the night, regardless of the circumstance, and offer his help.

In the early hours of the morning following Christmas of 1987, Severus experienced another instance of the latter circumstance.

He had felt her fear acutely when he was jarred from his slumber, but then she had nearly faded from his consciousness, indicating that she was still upset, but no longer afraid for her life.

In short, Severus ascertained, she had had another nightmare. Part of him understood her desire for privacy, and knew that she would only be resentful if he offered help when the danger was only imaginary.

But part of him wanted to run to the Slytherin dormitories, and pull his young daughter into an embrace, until the fear faded from her mind, and she released her hold on his.

He had gathered from Calista's embarrassment over the subject that her ability to bleed her strongest emotions into his mind was involuntary, and it alarmed him.

If she had no notion that she was alerting him to her distress, then how could either of them know that she wasn't providing Bellatrix with the same information?

And yet, if she _was_, if Calista's desperate, unconscious call of alarm was broadcast indiscriminately to both her parents, then Severus was left in a difficult position, indeed.

His choice wasn't much of one at all: He could allow Calista to continue to alert both of them to her fear, which stood a very real chance of allowing Bellatrix to take a foothold in her mind again, or he could train her to block them both out; which would leave him entirely ignorant if she was ever in a situation where she needed his help, and couldn't reach him by conventional means.

Plagued by these thoughts, Severus resigned himself to being awake, and lit the lamps in his study.

The Christmas tree that Calista had put in the corner was still there, although the witchfire lights had faded several hours ago, since witchfire could only remain lit for a set amount of time without being recharged.

He reached for a text on Legilimancy, although he had already read this particular book several times over in an attempt to understand the link he had developed with Calista, and had unearthed nothing of significance.

He was still aware, at the edges of his consciousness, of Calista's distress, and it unnerved him, since he could do nothing about it.

If he had possessed a finer grasp on the nuances of her emotions, he would have felt that she was considering running to him to confess the details of her darkest nightmares, but he didn't; he knew only _when_ she was distressed, not why.

In fact, if he _had_ known that she wanted to run to him for comfort, but was held back for fear that he would judge her harshly because she couldn't stop crying, then virtually nothing would have prevented him from seeking her out and attempting to soothe her nerves.

Inasmuch as an emotional relationship with his daughter was concerned, Severus had taken his cues from his daughter. She had struck him from the beginning as intensely private, and had never responded well to his repeated attempts to understand her.

She had been understandably resentful when he had seen her darkest memories, and had almost never spoken about them to him; when she did, it was generally in fairly oblique terms, and he had never wanted to push her to disclose anything she was not comfortable with.

As a result, he had found himself in a precarious situation, where he had known the details of the darkest moments of her childhood, but could only guess at how these moments affected her daily life.

It might even have come as a relief to Severus himself to have someone to confide his own fears and secrets in, but Calista was so distant and guarded that he could not envision such a scenario; indeed, in keeping with Calista's evident preferences, he had always kept himself fairly concealed from her emotionally.

When she had come to live with him, Calista had been irrevocably damaged and defensive. Compared with how their relationship had begun, Severus felt that he had made tremendous leeway with her. And yet, she seemed loathe to _truly_ open herself to him, to reveal her emotions.

He had not, of course, had the most exemplary childhood, and he was almost entirely ignorant in the art of parenting, so it had always seemed natural to follow Calista's lead, to reveal only as much of himself as she would reveal of her own emotions.

And so, when she was closed and distant, he had never pushed, knowing that he would be alerted if she were ever in imminent danger, and priding himself on his resistance to invading the privacy of her mind, even though it would have been easy enough for him to do so.

Sometimes, when he had found Calista to be exceptionally unrelatable, he had forced himself to relive those terrible moments of her childhood, as if his reliving her pain could somehow relieve her of the burden of it.

Embroiled in empathy for his oft-distant daughter, Severus Snape was resigned to wakefulness for the remainder of the night.

**o-o-o-o**

When they saw each other again, no mention was mdae by either how both had lain awake all of Christmas night.

Severus was present in the Great Hall at breakfast the following Monday, and since there was almost nobody at the Slytherin table, he had shafted protocol and simply sat with his daughter.

"How have you been sleeping?" It was a leading question, because Severus already knew the answer; if he had been a bit more finessed in the art of concern, then perhaps he would have opened with something slightly more unassuming.

"Fine," Calista answered automatically, and Severus nodded, although he was plagued by a hidden, inner conflict: Why wouldn't his own daughter gift him with her honesty?

"Did you have any strange dreams?"

It was Severus' best attempt at fatherly concern, given that he knew damn well that she'd been awake most of Christmas night following a bad dream; and yet, Calista misread him as simply nosy.

"No."

"Well," he said, admittedly at a loss. He had been so disturbed by her distress the previous night that _he_ felt he needed to discuss it, and yet Calista was solidly denying that anything had been amiss. Was she emotionally infallible, or did she simply mistrust him?

"What?" Calista asked defensively, perhaps sensing that he knew she was not being truthful.

"Nothing," he said, abandoning his efforts, and then, "Seek me out this afternoon. We're going to take a brief excursion out of the castle. And wear Muggle clothes."

Calista couldn't begin to guess at what he was playing at, so by afternoon her curiosity was piqued. She was dressed in jeans and a long-sleeved top, and carried her winter cloak over her shoulder.

Once they were off the grounds, Severus took hold of Calista's hand and Apparated both of them. They landed behind an old factory building with boarded-up windows. It looked like no one else had been in this particular spot for ages, which led Calista to wonder how Severus had known to land in exactly this spot.

The area was fairly run-down, but after walking a short way, they came to a row of shops.

"What are we doing here?" Calista asked, and then amended, "_Where_ are we, anyway?"

They walked past a used-clothing shop and a window display of mostly broken children's toys before Severus answered.

"I'm sure there was a closer place for this, but this is the only one I know of."

They had stopped walking now, and Severus nodded towards the door of the nearest shop. It was a jewellery store, and a large sign in the window advertised ear piercing.

A slow grin spread over Calista's face. She wasn't much into jewellery, in fact had owned exactly none of it until a few days ago, but she'd always liked how earrings looked on other girls, and now she wouldn't have to explain to Olivia why she wasn't wearing her gift.

Intentional piercing was one of the strange quirks of the wizarding world. It was nearly as common among witches and wizards as it was among Muggles, but they didn't have any businesses of their own that catered to the trend.

Some people used a Puncture Spell to do it, but even with such a mild spell, there was the risk of accidentally injuring someone permanently – a severed earlobe would not grow back.

As a result, most witches and wizards simply went to Muggle shops to get pierced jewellery.

As he had told Calista, Severus knew there were probably a lot of places closer to the castle that she could have gotten her ears pierced at, but he didn't exactly take strolls through Muggle neighbourhoods for fun, so he had taken her here.

If he hadn't been with Calista, there was another stop he would have made, but she was exiting the shop with little silver studs in her earlobes and a grin on her face, so he was out of time.

In that moment, it struck Severus that Calista had no problems showing him _some_ of her emotions – he had seen both happiness and pride on her face on more than one occasion. Why, then, was she so loathe to let him share in her sadness and fear, too?

**o-o-o-o**

When term started up again, Severus made a decision that Calista would resume Occlumency lessons. She was to report to him on Saturday mornings, although he did concede the days on which Quidditch matches were held.

Now that she had a new set of Gobstones and a willing opponent in Emily Yaxley, Calista spent a lot of time playing, and slightly less time with her nose buried in a book, although Olivia found both pastimes to be distasteful and boring.

Emily was actually very skilled at the game, and just as pleased to have someone to play with as Calista was. She taught Calista several ways to improve her technique, and was probably more talkative when playing the schoolyard game than at any other time.

Calista was still performing below par in Transfiguration, despite her father's help. She was beginning to lag even further behind in class, which caused McGonagall to assign her even more homework, in the hopes that she'd eventually improve.

It was having the opposite effect, though. Calista was so frustrated with the subject that she didn't think she even _wanted_ to learn it anymore.

She was in the Slytherin common room working on yet another of McGonagall's essays when Olivia sidled over to the chair opposite her at the study table and sat down.

"I'm bored," she complained, taking Calista's essay away from her in one swift motion. She ran her eyes briefly over the parchment, pronounced it boring as well, and tucked in carelessly inside Calista's textbook, closing the cover of the latter.

"You could do the Potions homework," Calista suggested tartly, knowing the other girl hadn't done it and had not intention of doing it.

"What's the point of doing the homework?" Olivia said, "I'll just cheat off you when we have our exams."

She had a nasty gleam in her eye, as if she was daring Calista to refute it.

"What if we aren't sitting next to each other?"

"But we will be. You'll ask your father to seat us together."

Calista laughed. "He already knows I'm helping you, he won't put me next to you at exam time."

Olivia narrowed her eyes.

"How does he know? Did you tell him?"

"No, of course I didn't, but he's not stupid, he can tell—,"

But Olivia wasn't even interested in listening to Calista's response, because something far more interesting to wonder about had entered her mind. A positively impish expression crossed her face.

"So Calista," she said casually, "Where's your mother? How come you never talk about her?"

"What?" Calista was taken aback by the question; she had known it would eventually come, but she hadn't been expecting it just then.

"Your mother," she repeated, in a tone one would use when talking to someone who was quite slow on the uptake, "Is she dead?"

"Yes," Calista answered hastily, reaching for her textbook to conceal her expression.

Olivia eyed her for a moment, and then put her hand over the book, preventing Calista from opening its cover again.

"How did she die?"

"When I was born," Calista replied, trying to pull the book across the table, away from Olivia.

"That's funny," Olivia said, deceptively light, "Considering that a witch hasn't died in childbirth in, oh, a hundred years."

"Let go of my book."

"She was a Muggle, wasn't she, Calista?"

There was a challenge in Olivia's eyes, and Calista could see where this would go; she was trapped, now. If she was to continue the lie that hr mother had died when she was born, she'd be unable to convince Olivia that her mother wasn't a Muggle, and she'd be shunned just as badly as Portia; worse, perhaps, because Portia at least was pure-blooded.

Most of the other students in Slytherin didn't put as much importance on blood purity as Olivia did, but Olivia was the ringleader of the first-years, and no matter what her reasons were, if she disliked someone, the other students in the year would follow suit, or at least the girls would.

Calista made a decision.

"No," she said, "I lied. My mother isn't dead. She… she and my father don't get along, and I don't really see her very much."

_At least not while I'm awake_, she thought bitterly.

"But don't you miss her?"

"No. I don't know. Why do you care?"

Olivia affected a hurt look. "I'm your best friend, Calista. I just want to know about your family. I tell you about mine."

"Well, I don't want to talk about it," Calista said shortly, and gave the textbook a great yank. It slipped out from beneath Olivia's hand, but the essay inside it got rather crumpled around the edges that were sticking out past the pages of the book.

"There's no need to get upset," Olivia said sweetly, as if nothing had happened. Calista didn't miss the malice beneath the tone, though.

She knew Olivia wasn't going to let it drop.

**o-o-o-o**

They were on the way back to the common room after Potions class when it happened.

Olivia was livid because Professor Snape had made her change seats with Percy Weasley halfway into class, just because he had seen her handing her ingredients off to Calista to be prepared.

She had gotten a zero on the assignment, because she had added her armadillo bile at the wrong time, and the mixture had turned black as night and congealed into a solid mass.

She was fuming, and not paying attention to where she was going, and she ran smack into a first-year Hufflepuff girl, sending her schoolbooks and potions kit flying all over the corridor.

The Hufflepuff girl had gotten down on the floor with Olivia, helping her pick up the mess.

"Looks like one of your phials shattered," the girl commented, lifting a piece of it, "I would've thought they'd do something to it to make it unbreakable, you know? I mean, with everything else that magic can do, why not? I s'pose it's so you'll have to keep buying new ones."

Olivia ignored her, picking individual porcupine quills up off the floor.

"I'm still getting used to all this, mind you – the magic and stuff," the Hufflepuff girl chattered on, "My parents are both Muggles, and they couldn't believe it when we found out about me, that I'm a witch. Did you always know?"

Olivia snatched up the last of her fallen ingredients, and sneered at the other girl.

"Of course I did. I'm not a Mudblood like you."

The girl only looked slightly wounded, perhaps more at Olivia's tone than her words, since she didn't seem to understand the significance of the term.

One of the girl's housemates had approached behind Olivia though, and evidently he _did_ know the severity of the insult, because he leapt to her defence.

"You cow," he said to Olivia, "I'm going to tell the Headmaster what you said."

Olivia laughed rudely.

"Oh you are, are you? Calista's the best student in our year, and she'll hex you if you get me into trouble. You want to be walking around with boils for the rest of the year?"

The boy paled, and looked to Calista, as if for confirmation of the threat.

Calista had, until that point, had absolutely no intention of getting involved in the incident, but it looked as though Olivia wasn't going to give her a choice.

Only, before the incident had happened, Olivia had been ranting at Calista, as if it were her fault that she had moved across the room in Potions, had even been accusing her of getting caught chopping and grinding Olivia's ingredients _on purpose_ so that Olivia would fail the class.

Calista didn't like cheating for Olivia; she took pride in her own work, and was always irritated when Olivia received credit for it, and it wasn't only in Potions. She copied her essays for Charms and History of Magic, too, and yet never offered to help Calista in Transfiguration, which was the one class that Olivia truly excelled in.

She was tired of Olivia always getting her own way.

"You started it, Olivia. I'm not going to hex anyone for you over this."

Both Hufflepuffs looked relieved, and took off before she could change her mind.

When Calista looked back at Olivia's face, she knew her decision to stand up to her had been a mistake for which she'd pay dearly.

"You. How dare you refuse to back me up, after everything I've done for you."

"What?" Calista nearly choked, she was so shocked by Olivia's words. "After all you've done for _me_? You're the one that copies all of my homework."

"I befriended you," Olivia said, "Even though you're just as much of an ugly little misfit as Portia is. I invited you to watch Quidditch practice, even though no one really wanted you there."

Calista had heard enough, and turned her back, so that Olivia wouldn't see how deeply her words had hurt.

But Olivia wasn't finished. The rage of her humiliation in Potions class, and again in front of the two Hufflepuff students, coupled with the threat of being reported to the Headmaster, had sufficiently loosed the rein she had on her vicious tongue.

"Everyone thinks you're weird, because you're always reading some daft book and you never want to talk to anyone. And you know what else, Calista?"

Calista paused, bracing herself. Something told her that the worst was yet to come.

"You don't fool me for a minute. I know the real reason you took that wretched little Mudblood's side is because of your mother. She was too a Muggle, wasn't she?"

Calista turned around at this, provoked into a furious rage that Olivia would bring her mother into this. Of course, Olivia didn't know the truth, but there was one way to change that.

"You're right, I did lie to you," Calista said, her face full of fury despite her best efforts to control her expression, "But my mother's not a Muggle. She's not even dead. She's in Azkaban, for torturing a couple of Aurors until they completely lost it. Don't worry, though – her blood is probably purer than yours."

The declaration made, Calista instantly wished she could take it back, but it was too late. Instead, she just took off at a run down the corridor, and completely missed the look of utter shock on Olivia's pretty face.

**o-o-o-o**

Olivia was better than her word. Without her friendship, Calista lost the friendships of the other girls, too.

Portia was suddenly Olivia's favourite, inexplicably. It appeared that whatever she had done to cross Olivia in the first place was forgiven in light of Calista's more recent betrayal.

Emily wouldn't play Gobstones with her anymore, because the first time she had after the incident, Olivia had crumpled up bits of parchment and thrown them at Emily until she'd given up and left Calista alone.

Olivia had not been outwardly hostile to Calista, though. It was more that she was pretending she didn't even exist, and though she would resort to bullying the other girls for associating with her, she never directly attacked her.

In fact, if anything, Olivia had been acting like she was _afraid_ of Calista, ever since she had learned the truth about her mother.

It struck Calista as highly ironic that a girl who made such a show about disliking Muggles and Muggle-borns and wanting to hex them would find Calista's being related to someone who _did_ hex and torture them so unpalatable.

Without anyone to talk to, and without a Gobstones opponent, Calista spent nearly all of her time as she had before ever starting at Hogwarts; with her nose in a book, as Olivia had described it.

Mealtimes became unbearable for Calista, because she didn't have a book to hide behind. No one in her own year was speaking to her, and they wouldn't let her sit in her usual spot beside them.

When she had tried to sit with them, they had spent the whole meal discussing the various reasons why they didn't like her, as if she wasn't there. Olivia was nearly always the instigator, but it was ironically Portia that was often the cruellest.

When Olivia commented loudly that she couldn't stand people who didn't properly comb their hair, a few of the second-years nearby had sniggered, and then Portia had said that the reason Calista did so well in class was because the teachers graded her on a different scale, since she was so ugly they must have thought she was the first actual troll to attend Hogwarts.

For Calista, it was just like being back at the wretched orphanage with the Muggle girls who had picked on her mercilessly. She started sitting at the opposite end of the table at dinner, next to some fifth years.

They didn't really want to sit next to a first year, and the boys made this obvious by having very crass conversations in very loud voices. By three weeks into her exclusion from Olivia's crowd, she knew far more about the penises of the fifth-year Slytherin boys than she could ever want to.

Between Olivia and Portia harping on her about her appearance whilst simultaneously pretending she wasn't there, and the fifth-year boys having extremely rude conversations over her head, Calista began to feel like she was invisible.

Even Potions class was miserable, because Olivia kept stealing her ingredients when Professor Snape's back was turned, and then glaring at Calista as if daring her to snitch.

It got so bad that she considered moving her things across the room to sit with the Gryffindors, but by that point her constant mistreatment of Percy had gotten her a bad reputation with them, and they were no warmer to her than the members of her own house were.

Her father must have been aware, at least on some level, that Calista was feuding with her housemates, but he didn't really see much of a problem in that, since it meant that no one was cheating off of her in class anymore.

He assumed, in fact, that this was the root of the dispute, and when he had seen Calista sitting with the fifth-years at dinner, he believed that she had simply found students to talk to that were closer to her level academically.

He even dared to hope that they'd be able to help her bring up her Transfiguration marks, which were still slipping, even though he'd been trying to help her improve them.

If he had had any notion of what the fifth-year boys were _really_ discussing in front of Calista, he would have been positively apoplectic, and might have understood how badly Calista's exclusion among the first-years had affected her, that she would choose their crude behaviour over humiliation at the hands of her former friends.

**o-o-o-o**

_She was running again, jagged bones stabbing her feet as she ran. She felt Bellatrix gaining on her, turned to look – and she had a knife, again._

_She waved her knife, and Calista was shot through with pain, as if it had been a wand and Bellatrix had uttered the incantation for the Cruciatus Curse._

_Calista forced herself to keep running, but her legs were slowing; she was tired, she couldn't run anymore._

_Hands were pulling at her again from beneath. She fell down, was face-to-face with a disembodied skull._

_It started to speak, and Calista tried to scream but found that she had no voice._

'_Your mother murdered me,' the skull rasped, its jawbone clicking, 'She murdered me, and now you have to pay for it.'_


	7. Year 1: Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven:**

They were supposed to be turning a pencil into a ruler. After much frustration, Calista still had a pencil, albeit one with hatch marks every millimetre.

McGonagall was making her rounds in the classroom. She paused to hold up Emily's ruler as a splendid example, while Olivia looked put out that hers hadn't been chosen.

When she made her way over to Calista, McGonagall shook her head.

"I don't understand how you can do so well in every class but mine, Miss Snape. Professor Flitwick is always trying to tell me you're a brilliant student, and yet you can't even manage a simple Transfiguration. Why is that?"

Calista flushed. "I don't know."

"Here," McGonagall set a fresh pencil on the table before her. "Show me what you're doing."

Feeling her face heat up, and knowing that most of the class had stopped working to watch the scene, Calista wished that she _was _better at Transfiguration; maybe then she could use a Vanishing Spell on herself.

Calista concentrated, and waved her wand at the pencil. Nothing happened for a moment, and then black marks appeared along one side of the pencil, just like the first one she had tried to transfigure.

"You're thinking about it too hard," McGonagall said, "Instead of trying to think of all the things that differentiate the pencil from the ruler, just think of what they have in common."

McGonagall moved on, leaving Calista to attempt the transfiguration several more times. She got the exact same result twice, and her best attempt for the class period was a flat, ruler-shaped length of wood that had no measurement marks. It did, however, have a rubber on the end of it.

When class ended, McGonagall looked rather disappointed at what Calista had produced.

"Very well then, Miss Snape, if that's the best you can do. Perhaps you should review your notes."

"Yeah, I'll do that," Calista said, anxious to leave class before Olivia did, knowing the other girl would probably say something snide if they left together.

She had already reviewed her notes several times over, and had read all of the first-year chapters in her textbook at least three times, but it hadn't done much good.

She almost collided with Portia in her rush to leave the classroom.

"Watch where you're going – or can't you see around your nose?" she sneered.

"Oh, you're so clever, Portia," Calista shot back, "Did you think of that all by yourself, or did Olivia tell you what to say?"

"Have fun in first-year Transfiguration again next year, Calista!" Olivia called over her shoulder, as she took hold of Portia's elbow and steered her away, presumably towards the Quidditch pitch to watch the team practise.

Livid, Calista made her lonely way to the Slytherin common room. She sat down and resigned herself to going over the Transfiguration text yet again.

She felt uneasy beneath the gaze of the skulls that lined the common room. She had never really paid them any mind before, but in light of the most recent instalment of her nightmare, they were suddenly decidedly creepy.

She swept around the room, picking pillows up off of armchairs, and stuffing them in front of the skulls that she could reach.

She sat down to work again, and was still taking notes from the text on anything that she thought might help her improve her class performance, hours later when Olivia and her cronies swept into the common room.

Calista did her best to pretend they weren't there, but then Olivia noticed the cushions in front of the skulls.

"Aw, did ickle Calista get scared?"

She hadn't been the only student in the common room during the time that the three girls had been gone, and wondered how Olivia knew that she had put them there. Or was it just a guess?

Calista bent further over her schoolwork, determined for once not to rise to Olivia's bait.

"She's afraid of the dark too," Portia volunteered, "The other night, I heard her wake up, and then she went to the common room and lit all the lamps."

That would have been the night she had dreamt of the talking skull. She hadn't known anyone else was awake.

Calista ignored her, ignored the temptation to ask how she had managed to hear anything over her own constant sniffling, because she knew if she said anything to either of the girls, she was going to lose it.

Olivia laughed.

"I'm not surprised. Come on, Portia, I want to try something with your hair."

Of course, Calista thought to herself, Olivia couldn't have a friend without trying to change her into another version of herself.

She noticed something strange, though. When Portia made to follow Olivia, Emily sat down at a study table instead – and she set three lengths of parchment down on the table along with her book and quill.

So that's why Olivia wasn't missing Calista's friendship; she had found someone else to do her homework for her. Even Calista had never actually written Olivia's homework up for her, she'd only let the other girl copy.

The incident had nearly blown over, when Marcus Flint and the rest of the Quidditch team entered the common room.

They were laughing and jeering each other over something that had happened on the pitch, and then Marcus looked at Olivia and smiled.

And that was all it took.

Olivia was full of contradictions; she had boasted about her pureblood pride, but was frightened of Calista because her mother had acted on her pride. She always said that Marcus Flint was daft, and yet she always seemed to be trying to catch his eye.

Until this point, she had never done more than jeer at Calista, or exclude her. But something happened when she caught Marcus' eye, and she thought she had the chance to impress him.

Olivia snatched one of the pillows from in front of the skulls and threw it square at Calista's head.

Calista, seeing an object hurtling at her from the edges of her vision, but not knowing what it was yet, involuntarily started, and began clawing at whatever had been thrown at her. When she saw that it was only a pillow, her face flushed.

Olivia and Portia enjoyed a great laugh over this, and a few of the Quidditch team members sniggered, too.

Then Olivia and Portia swept past, on their way to the dormitories. As she passed, Portia grabbed a handful of Calista's hair and yanked on it, hard.

Calista didn't think. Her wand was in her pocket, and when Portia pulled on her hair, she whipped it out and performed the first hex that came into her mind, covering Portia's pudgy face with boils.

Portia shrieked, and put her hands to her face; then she saw that her hands were covered too.

"What did you do to me?" she screeched, and everyone in the common room was looking at them. A few people laughed.

Calista kept her wand pointed at Portia, but her hand was shaking.

"Don't you _ever_ touch me again, Portia MacNair, or I swear I'll do worse."

"I'm telling Snape!" Portia cried, making a blind dash for the exit of the common room, "And if he won't punish you then I'll go right to the Headmaster next!"

Calista thought that Portia was overreacting, and judging by the way Marcus Flint was sniggering, she wasn't the only one.

However, now that her heartbeat was returning to a normal rate, worry began to set in. Portia might think that Snape would be lenient in disciplining her because of their relationship, but Calista was fairly certain he would lean the opposite way.

She was about to find out, at any rate.

**o-o-o-o**

Severus was correcting papers in his office when someone started battering at his door. He distinctly heard someone crying, and leapt up, opening the door to see a very ugly first-year girl.

"S-she _hexed_ me!" the girl cried, sounding as though she had just been through a far more severe trauma than suffering a Furnunculus spell, "It _hurts._"

It took him a moment to recognise Portia with all the boils on her face, but when he did, he took a vial of boil-cure potion off a shelf and handed it to her. The girl was blubbering so much that she had a hard time getting the stopper out, so Severus had to take the vial from her, pull the stopper out, and then give it back.

After a few moments, Portia's face and hands returned to normal, and she handed the vial back to him. She wiped the back of her hand across her nose as she sniffed loudly, trying to stop crying.

"Who hexed you?" Severus asked, when the girl's sobs had subsided.

"C-Calista did, sir. She hexed me for no reason at all."

Severus was surprised to hear who the culprit was, but he had observed enough of the new dynamic between the Slytherin girls to doubt that the attack had truly been unprovoked.

"Did anyone else see the attack?"

Portia flushed, perhaps picking up on the fact that he didn't quite believe her.

"Yeah," she said, "Olivia Avril was there. And…"

She had been about to name Emily and the Quidditch players, but then it occurred to her that one of them might volunteer that Portia had pulled Calista's hair before Calista hexed her. Calista would still be in trouble, but Portia might be, too.

"And?" Severus prompted.

"And… ah, no one. Just Olivia."

"I see," he said, "Return to your dormitory, and kindly send Calista and Miss Avril to my office when you get there."

Portia nodded, and left his office, heading in the general direction of the Slytherin quarters.

Olivia arrived in his office before Calista did, so Severus took the opportunity to question her.

"You saw the attack on Miss MacNair?" he asked, watching her face.

Olivia nodded. "It was completely unprovoked, sir. We were all just working on our homework, when Calista got angry at something and hexed Portia. I think it was _Furnunculus_."

She was lying. He could see it in her face, the way her eyes darted around when she spoke.

"Very well," he said, just as Calista had entered the office, her shoulders hunched. "You may go, Miss Avril."

Olivia smiled politely at him, and turned her back. On the way past, she flashed a smirk at Calista, but Calista's gaze was squarely on the floor.

"Calista," Severus said, sounding a bit tired, "What happened?"

"Portia pulled my hair and I hexed her," she said shortly, almost defiantly, as if she was already resigned to being punished for it and simply wanted to get it over with.

He had known there must have been more to the story than he had gotten from the other two girls.

"You know full well that you are not allowed to hex your classmates."

"I know," she conceded, looking up slightly.

"I know you were provoked, but nevertheless, that kind of behaviour cannot be excused."

"I know," Calista repeated, "And I know you have to give me detention or something. But if she ever touches me again, I'm going to do something worse to her than give her boils."

She said it plainly, and Severus knew she meant it. He also could not condone it.

"No," he said, "If she touches you again, then you come to me and I will punish her accordingly. Then it will be she who gets a detention, instead of you. Which you will serve, by the way, Friday after class."

"It's kind of ironic, isn't it?" Calista said after a spell, "That you're the first teacher to give me a detention."

"It is surprising," Severus admitted, "Especially given that I hear you're quite cheeky in Charms class."

Calista flushed slightly.

"Incidentally," he said, "You probably could successfully use a Tickling Charm to fight a vampire, if you ever found yourself in that dubious situation."

Calista bit back a grin.

"Perhaps I should write an essay about it for Professor Flitwick."

"Perhaps," he said, and then looked at her a bit sternly. "Now, go back to your dormitory, and try not to hex anyone else."

**o-o-o-o**

Damn it. She kept reaching out, but it was only into emptiness. There was nothing.

She ran her fingers through her matted, greasy hair, until they caught on knots and stopped. Then she pulled at the knots ferociously, howling in frustration.

Bellatrix redoubled her efforts, concentrating on that night, the night that she had forged a special connection with her daughter.

She envisioned it clearly, the beautiful silver of the blade, the creamy-pale canvas of the child's skin.

When she made the first cut, the girl screamed and tried to break free, but Bellatrix held her in place by magic. She would be in pain now, but some day the girl would come to see that this was for a greater good.

She would be one of His now, just like her mother was.

Bellatrix had been fascinated by the beads of blood that rose up, stark against the white of her skin. This blood was her Daughter's blood, and by extension, it was her own blood, too.

Each incision would bring Daughter, and Bellatrix, one step closer to the Dark Lord.

Surely he would see, then, would understand that even though he had not fathered the child, she was _his_. She could only grow up to be an extraordinary witch, given her parentage, an excellent addition to the Dark Lord's side.

Or, if Voldemort was impatient, he could use her as a freely given sacrifice, to improve his power. Blood magic was a powerful thing, a beautiful thing, that Bellatrix had always wanted to see.

It was so hard to find a willing sacrifice, and a subject under the Imperius curse wasn't the same; the blood would never be as magically rich, as deliciously potent.

The fact that it was a form of Blood magic that had caused the Dark Lord's apparent downfall was an irony that wasn't lost on Bellatrix.

If only she could have arranged to have that sort of power on the Dark Lord's side. Next time, she vowed she would.

She only needed to reach him, first. A feat that was easier said than done, as she languished in her cell.

She had almost managed it before, to take control of Daughter, her extension. Then that damn half-blooded fool had taken the prize from her, had even stolen her plans on how to use the girl to revive the Dark Lord.

She needed to get into the girl's mind again, needed to brush away thoroughly the rubbish that was her own consciousness, the bundle of fear and hesitation. She had not wanted to do what Bellatrix had asked, so Bellatrix needed to force her.

She blamed her cousin, for stealing the girl and ferreting her away. If she had only had more _time_ with her, she would have broken her, would have made her come to see the way things had to be.

She still could do it, if she could only find her again.

It was only a matter of time, of course. Bellatrix smiled to herself when she was reminded of it. The girl was Marked; she would not be able to hide for long.

**o-o-o-o**

Calista moaned in her sleep, reaching blindly for her wand. She had to defend herself, before –

Before what?

Calista jolted awake, breathing hard. She had been having a nightmare _again_, but this time she had woken up for a different reason.

There was a sharp, stabbing pain right in the middle of her back.

She slipped out of bed, one hand curled around her wand and the other pressing against her spine.

She let go of her back and grabbed the little hand-mirror that Portia had given her for Christmas out of the drawer of her bedside table, still half in its wrappings, and carried it out to the common room.

She lit the lamp nearest her, refraining from lighting them all in the hopes that she could avoid having any of the others wake up.

Huddled in the corner, her back still radiating pain, Calista pushed her nightshirt up, angling the mirror and twisting her neck to an unlikely angle so she could see her back.

The marks were there, raised and white, difficult to see against her pallor, but still undeniable.

She had felt them and seen them before, but she couldn't remember them hurting, at least not this badly.

What she had _not_ noticed before was the shape that they formed, and it glared at her now from within the neat frame of the circular mirror.

It was – oh, no. It was a skull with a snake coming out of it, very similar to the tattoo she had seen on her mother's forearm often enough to memorize.

She concentrated on trying to remember how the scars had gotten there, but it was no use. She didn't remember, didn't even really remember being aware of them any earlier than the previous summer, when she had seen them in a mirror on the back of her wardrobe door.

But they were old scars, obviously as healed as they would ever be, and she must have had them for a lot longer than she could _remember_ having them.

Had Bellatrix somehow done this to her while she was inside of her mind last year?

It was a terrifying prospect, one that made Calista shiver from head to toe. If Bellatrix could harm her on the _outside_ when she was _inside_, and Bellatrix had already proved that she could reach Calista from the confines of Azkaban, then there was no part of Calista that was safe from her mother's torture, even now – not her body, and certainly not her mind.

She hadn't felt Bellatrix in her mind since her father had forced her out of it, but what if her attack was simply more subtle now? After all, Calista couldn't remember Bellatrix giving her the scars, and yet they were there. Maybe she hadn't felt that attack, either, until it was too late.

Calista slumped into the corner of the common room, and pulled her legs to her chest. She abandoned the mirror on the floor next to her, but kept one hand clutched tightly on her wand.

Then she dropped her face to her knees, and started to cry. She didn't make a sound, but her entire body shook and bucked with the force of the sobs.

Would she ever feel safe? The answer was, not while Bellatrix lived.

That moment was perhaps the first one where Calista truly realised what the implications of her position were. She would have to murder Bellatrix, or she could never live in peace.

Getting past the idea that she would someday have to kill someone would be hard enough; but she was only eleven years old, and she had no idea when or how Bellatrix would strike at her again. How on earth was she supposed to defend herself against a grown woman, who was one of the Dark Lord's most trusted agents?


	8. Year 1: Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight:**

Calista had known that her father was going to give her a detention, from the moment that Portia had gone running to his office to snitch on her.

What she hadn't known was that he would actually make her sort a huge shipment of pickled eyeballs by species, without using any magic to help her.

"This is really disgusting," she complained at one point, when she had accidentally squashed one between her fingers.

Severus glanced up from where he was correcting essays at his desk – homework, in fact from Calista's own class, which had just ended an hour ago.

"Is it? Then perhaps you will think twice about hexing your classmates next time."

"How much longer do I have to do this?"

Severus didn't even look up from the essay he was marking. "Until you are finished."

"Are you having me on? There are thousands of them – I'll be at it until _dawn_."

"Well then, what a lucky thing for us that you don't have any other classes this afternoon that might interrupt your progress."

"And to think, Portia was worried you might favour me and let me go unpunished." Calista grumbled half-heartedly.

He glanced up at that.

"I might have considered it, if you hadn't announced so brazenly that you'd do it again."

"I didn't," Calista deadpanned, "I said I'd do worse."

Severus arched his brows. "I'm expecting a shipment of flobberworms next week. Shall I write you in to sort those, too?

"Why?" Calista challenged, "It's not going to change anything. I'm not just going to sit there and let her pull my hair, or throw things at me, or whatever she and Olivia want to do next. I've been through that once already, thanks, and I'm done."

Severus couldn't quite stop his temper from rising along with Calista's. He set his marking quill down on the desk, across the stack of essays, and his eyes bored into hers.

"You are not a law unto yourself, Calista," he said, as evenly as he could manage, "You need to stop using your anger as an excuse to flout the rules whenever it suits you. And, furthermore – it might interest you to know that I do _not_ savour arguing with you every single time I tell you something."

"You don't understand," she accused, but Severus didn't even let her finish.

"No, _you_ don't understand," he interrupted, "You seem to think that you can unleash your anger anytime, on anyone, and not suffer the consequences. I have been far too lenient with you, but it appears that your friends have not been."

"Portia's not my friend," she said, carelessly tossing a handful of toads' eyeballs in with newts' eyes. "She never was. I don't have any friends."

"That's rubbish," he said, "You're quarrelling with them, fine. But I've seen you sitting with Boyle and Quinn and the other fifth-years."

"Yeah," she said, wretchedly, and he noticed that her hands were shaking, causing her to squash another eyeball by mistake, "Because I got tired of listening to Portia and Olivia talk about how ugly I am and how much they hate me."

Severus exhaled.

"I still expect you to serve your detention," he said, "But you can put those down for a minute if you need to talk."

Calista shook her head, and kept sorting. "Don't worry. I won't ruin any more of them."

"Has it occurred to you that it's you I'm concerned about, and not the state of those bloody eyeballs?"

Calista glanced at him sidelong. "You wouldn't understand anyway."

"I wouldn't?" he said, so softly that Calista barely heard him over the squelching noises her work was making. "Try me."

"I just don't understand," she said, "How someone can say they're your best friend one minute, and in the next they act like you're a pile of dung."

How, indeed. Severus didn't have an explanation for Calista, any more than he had ever been able to explain it to himself.

"You can't concern yourself too much with the way that other people see you," he said, in a deceptively offhand manner, "As long as you know who you are and what you stand for, it's all right."

Calista dropped two more eyes into smaller bins.

"Yeah? And what if I don't know what I stand for?"

Severus smirked reflectively. "You're eleven years old. You don't need to know that yet – and I strongly suspect that the first time you do decide that, it won't be the final word."

Calista contemplated while she sorted another handful of squashy little spheres.

"Right. I'm eleven years old. But no one else in my year has ever seen their mum torture someone and then off them after."

"I think," he said darkly, "You'd be surprised."

**o-o-o-o**

The irony did not escape Severus that of the two people he had ever truly loved in the world, only one of them could be his in any given life.

For, of course, if Lily had returned his love, then he would never have fathered Calista.

They were a very good analogy, really, for the course of his entire life.

Lily was destined to be his Achilles' might-have-been; something truly beautiful and wholly good that he could only have possessed if he had been able to shut down the dark side of his psyche completely.

Almost a perfect foil, Calista was a child born into the darkness, and bred to remain there. It was the darkest part of himself that had led to the circumstances in which he wound up in Bellatrix's bed.

Sometimes, he thought bitterly of the greatest irony of all: That he had lost Lily because he had unwittingly brought evil down upon her, and caused her death; and he had gained Calista because he had rescued _from_ evil.

Which, he supposed, left him solidly in limbo, precisely where he had been before beginning a brief and powerful descent that would Mark him forever.

The cruellest thing he had to live with was the knowledge that even coming full circle would not bring Lily back from the dead.

**o-o-o-o**

Hexing Portia had done one good thing, at least. Ever since their confrontation, Portia had been very careful not to provoke Calista unless the latter was seriously outnumbered.

Of course, since Calista had exactly zero friends, it was not the rarest of circumstances.

She was still sitting near the fifth-years at mealtimes, who had evidently realised that she wasn't going to go away no matter how perverted their conversations were made. They had switched tacks, and were now openly discussing, in great detail, the horrific effects of spells gone gruesomely wrong.

Calista supposed they meant to frighten her into leaving, but she was already extremely desensitised to such things. On the second night, when the boys were describing a curse that would cause entrails to be ejected forcefully from the body, Calista actually took out her quill and a scrap of parchment and wrote down what they were saying.

The boy sitting directly to Calista's left craned his neck, peering over her shoulder to see what she was writing.

"Aw, is the little first-year going to tattle on us for scaring her?" the boy jeered. It was the first time that any of them had actually spoken to her directly, and Calista was slow in meeting his gaze.

A couple of the other boys chortled, and even one of the girls. They didn't really seem to be expecting an answer, but she decided to give them one anyway.

"I'm not scared," she said, her eyes narrowing, "I just haven't heard of that one before."

"Heard what one before?" another boy, one with shoulder-length blond hair and a face full of spots asked, eyeing her with something between suspicion and contempt.

"The curse. The one that you said caused someone's entrails to fly out of them like –,"she paused, consulting her notes, "—'Like a bat out of hell'.

The first boy guffawed. He was broad and dark-haired, and Calista was fairly certain he was on the Quidditch team. "Yeah, they don't teach you that one in first year."

The rest of the group laughed as if he'd told a brilliant joke.

Calista blanched. "I know that," she said, hunching her shoulders tightly, "They don't teach us the Fiendfyre Curse or the Levicorpus hex either, but I've heard of those."

They weren't laughing anymore; a few of them exchanged looks, and then the lone girl that seemed to be a part of their group snapped her fingers, and smirked.

"You know who she is, right? She's Snape's brat. Bet you anything that's where she learnt the names of those curses."

"Yeah?" the Quidditch player said, looking at Calista again. "That the truth?"

Calista nodded, although she was only agreeing to the first part of the girl's statement.

"So," the spotty-faced blond boy leaned across the table, "Why aren't you sitting with the other first years like a good little girl?"

Her eyes flashed. "I'm not a 'little girl'."

They all laughed again.

"You're a little girl, all right" the older girl said, smirking at Calista, "Although maybe not a good one. Matter of fact, I think I'm gonna call you Little Snape. I'm Kimberly Avery, and this here's Ethan Briggs –," she gestured to the blond boy, "And that's Conor Quinn and Peter Boyle."

She indicated the dark-haired likely-Quidditch-player on Calista's left and a ginger-haired slip of a lad on her right, respectively.

"My given name is Calista, not Little," she said, through clenched teeth.

"Sure it is, Little Snape," Peter quipped.

Kimberly had been contemplating the staff table, and now she regarded Calista. "Kind of creepy how much she looks like him, eh?"

"Yeah," Conor said, "You gonna give us extra homework, Little Snape?"

Calista crumpled up the scrap of parchment she'd written her notes about the entrails-expelling curse on, and stood up to leave. She hadn't given up being teased by first-years so she could be teased by fifth-years instead.

"Hey, where are you going, Little Snape?" Kimberly asked, reaching across the table in an attempt to snag Calista's sleeve. She missed, but Calista paused anyway, not sure exactly why she was doing so.

"Here," Ethan said, shoving a plate with a piece of fruit cake on it towards the place Calista had just vacated at the table, "Have your sweet and tell us more of those hexes you learned."

Conor and Peter both moved over a little, obviously making room for Calista to rejoin them. Hardly daring to believe they were serious, she did.

"So," she said, lifting her fork to attack the fruit cake, "There's _Serpensortia_…"

**o-o-o-o**

Calista didn't bother to mention to the fifth-years that she hadn't actually ever _cast_ any of the curses she'd mentioned herself, and mercifully, they didn't ask.

It seemed to be enough that she had heard of them, and hadn't been squeamish when they'd shared their own tales of hexes and jinxes gone bad and magical mishaps in general that were probably meant to shock her.

They had started quizzing her occasionally, tossing out the names of Potions ingredients they were studying, or naming an incantation and asking her what the spell did. Some of the spells Calista knew, and some she didn't – but she was also fairly certain they'd made some of them up.

She knew a lot of the Potions ingredients, although when they asked her to name all the ingredients in a Draught of Living Death, she'd only come up with two of them.

She'd already learned a lot from talking to them – not only the rest of the ingredients list for a Draught of Living Death, but a lot of useful little jinxes and hexes that she hadn't known about.

She'd even almost begun to tolerate the fact that none of them ever used her given name, but always called her "Little Snape," or some variation on it, which the lot of them seemed to feel was the epitome of cleverness.

One day at dinner, while Calista was furiously scribbling a list of jinxes that Kimberly, Conor, Ethan, and Peter were rattling off, someone snatched the list out of her hands.

"What—," Calista began, looking up to meet the gaze of a fifth-year girl in Ravenclaw robes. This one had limp blonde hair and a spotty complexion, was wearing a Prefect badge, and was looking at the group with obvious distaste. She scanned the parchment she'd stolen, and then laughed.

"Really?" she said, but she didn't even look at Calista as she spoke; she seemed to see right over her head, as if she wasn't there at all, and spoke instead to the Slytherin fifth-years.

"What d'you want now, Elyse?" Ethan sounded wary.

"Can't I just check up on my twin brother?" the girl, Elyse, replied. "I can see you're still up to no good."

"That's right," Kimberly interjected, "We are. So why don't you shove off and find something better to do?"

Elyse looked at Kimberly scathingly. "I don't recall asking you anything, Avery."

"And I don't recall inviting you to our table," Kimberly shot back, "So if you'll kindly do us the pleasure of leaving, I'd be most obliged."

Elyse looked over Kimberly's head, at Ethan. "Mum wants to know if you're coming home for Easter break," she said, and cast a withering glance over Ethan's friends again, "I must say I think you could use a change in company."

Ethan tucked his longish hair behind his ears, and Calista noticed the tips of his ears were slowly reddening.

"Er, yeah," he said slowly, "I'm coming home. Kimberly's coming too, to spend the week with us."

His entire face was red now, and Elyse sneered. "You tell her about your little friend yourself. Mum only asked me to find out if _you_ were coming."

"Come off it, Elyse, Kimberly's never done anything to you…"

"Except turn my twin brother into a rule-breaking _Slytherin_ who apparently compiles lists of malicious, dangerous spells for fun – and isn't that a first year?" She seemed to have noticed Calista for the first time since snatching the parchment from her.

"Honestly," Elyse said, not giving Ethan a chance to answer, "You should know better than to corrupt a first-year with all this rubbish."

"You've said your bit, now bugger off, you daft cow," Kimberly said.

"I'll speak to your Head of House about that lack of respect for a Prefect," Elyse warned.

Kimberly grinned. "You go ahead and do that."

Elyse crumpled the parchment up and tossed it into Kimberly's lap before storming away.

"I don't understand how you can live with her, mate," Kimberly said to Ethan, while she smoothed out the parchment Elyse had ruined.

"She means well," Ethan managed, the curtain of his hair falling forward to hide his still-red ears again.

"Right," Kimberly sounded anything but convinced, but then her gaze shifted to Calista, and her expression lifted into a smile.

"So, Snapelet," she said brightly, "Mind putting in a good word for me with your dad? If I have to waste an afternoon in a bloody detention instead of studying for my O.W.L. I'll be in bad shape."

"Yeah," Calista said, "Yeah, I can do that."

**o-o-o-o**

Calista's mental defences were quailing. She fought with everything she had to keep her protective barrier sin place, but it was no use.

The first of her mental walls was torn down as if it were no more than a curtain of cobwebs. She felt a push against her second barrier, and then it too was wrenched open.

"No," she said aloud, going first red and then white with the strain of trying to control what was happening in her mind.

She felt an attack on the third and final layer of her defence, as ruthless as it had been with the other two.

Drawing on whatever meagre reserves she possessed, she threw absolutely everything she could behind this most important of barriers, her last stronghold in her own mind.

It was no use – she wasn't strong enough. But she _had _to keep her secrets, at all costs.

Then, just as suddenly as the assault had begun, it stopped. Calista let out a breath she hadn't even been aware of holding, and reached a tentative tendril of thought beyond her barriers, seeking signs of the intruder.

Too late, she realized she had no reason to be relieved.

The intruder slipped through her final mental barrier as easily as a fish cut through the water of a still pond.

"Layering your defences will do you no good if you cannot _sustain_ it," Severus said, radiating disapproval. "Let's try again, shall we?"

"Wait," Calista said, closing her eyes and letting out another shaky breath, trying to gather her resolve after it had so neatly been shattered.

"If someone were actually casting _Legilimens_ on you with the intent to invade your mind, they would not allow you a break to compose yourself," he said, adding silkily: "Of course, they'd hardly need to cast the spell if you showed them your distress as plainly as you just showed me."

"I'm _trying_," Calista snapped, her eyes opening again, "I'm doing the best I can."

"If that's true, then it only illustrates how sorely you need further practise."

Severus could see the irritation and anger flash briefly across his daughter's face, and then her eyes went carefully blank, her expression placid.

"Better," he murmured, lifting his wand. Strictly speaking, he didn't need it to enter Calista's mind, but using it increased his ability, and the stronger the foe Calista learned to defend against, the safer she would be.

Calista placed only two layers of protection this time. The first was brushed aside just as easily as last time, and behind it Calista had allowed some unimportant memories to seep through.

She felt Severus poring over inconsequential things, like the topic of her latest essay in Charms class, the ingredients in the last potion they had done in his class.

Then he approached her second barrier, and Calista braced herself. She had made this one as strong as her second and third barriers combined from her previous attempt.

There was perhaps a ten second pause before he tore it apart.

Calista howled in frustration. "How do you _do_ that?"

"A combination of factors," Severus said dryly, "Years of experience, a constant pressing need for secrecy, and of course, the fact that you make yourself as easy to read as an open spellbook."

"I do not!"

Severus lifted his wand again, an indication that he wasn't going to give her a rest this time, either. "Yes you do," he said, "Unless you truly expect your attacker to believe that all you have to hide are your homework assignments."

Calista hastily reformed her primary barrier. It was weak, even for her, as her energy was rapidly draining.

She gathered the last dregs of her strength into creating another barrier behind it, and she filled the space in between the two with any memories she could grope for that weren't particularly important.

On a sudden impulse, she added another scene – the recent verbal match between Kimberly Avery and Ethan's sister Elyse. She reversed the roles in the slice of it that she revealed, so that Elyse was the one calling Kimberly a daft cow.

And then she placed a brief scene from one of her nightmares among the rest – just a flash where one could see that Calista was running, but not what she was running from

She felt Severus brush against this memory almost immediately after he had swept aside the curtain of her first layer of defence. He didn't rush past it though; this time, he examined the piece of memory from the dream, looking for clues in it.

It gave Calista precious seconds to enhance the support of her second barrier.

He still broke through it as if it were mere play for him, but when he withdrew from her mind, his expression was somewhat softened.

"That was a bit better," he said, "Now, do you know why it worked better that time?"

"Because I placed something between the barriers that would attract your attention?"

"Ah, not entirely," he answered, "It worked because it was something with real emotion attached to it, which appears genuine; that is to say, if there were enough of those sorts of memory behind your first barrier, then I might not have assumed you were hiding more behind another layer."

"Oh." She waited for him to comment on the false memory she had added, the one where she had made Elyse Briggs look like a troublemaker.

He didn't.

"So," Calista prompted, "What if I created a false memory, too? Couldn't I put anything I wanted, and make the person believe it was true?"

"Like portraying that you were running towards Bellatrix instead of away from her? Yes, you could do that – but it would be difficult, because you'd have to make it fit seamlessly with whatever things are contained within that part of your mind. For example, you can't place a false happy memory into a part of yourself that is seething with anger."

"So it's… it's rather difficult then, isn't it?"

"In a word, yes. But not impossible."

Calista suppressed a grin. It seemed that he hadn't noticed that one of the memories he had viewed _was_ altered.

Of course, it hadn't been a particularly complex memory. Still, she wished she could tell him what she'd done, because she thought he'd be rather proud of her.

Then again, taking credit for the false memory would also defeat its purpose.

"I see," Calista said, "D'you think we could practise Transfiguration now?"

Severus nodded. "I've had an idea about that," he said, "Tell me one of the assignments you've had trouble with."

"We had to turn a pencil into a ruler," Calista said, recalling one of her least favourite lessons, "I couldn't get any better than a pencil that looked like it had been run over by a herd of hippogriffs."

Severus chuckled, and opened his desk drawer, rooting around a bit.

He placed a pencil on his desk, in front of Calista. "Go on," he said, "Show me."

Calista drew her wand from her pocket, and aimed it at the pencil, practising the spell she had learned in class.

The pencil wiggled, and then sort of flattened, and finally little black marks the width of human hairs appeared on it, marking measurements. It still definitely resembled a pencil, though.

Severus waved his own wand, returning the pencil to its original state.

"Now," he said, placing a ruler on the desk, to the right of the pencil as Calista viewed it, "Try it again."

Calista looked at him blankly, "Why bother?" she said, "There's already a ruler here, why would I need to make a new one out of a pencil?"

"I asked you to try the spell again, not to be a flippant little toad," he said, lacking any real malice.

Calista flashed a scowl, and repeated the spell, with the same results as before.

"Look at the ruler this time, while you're casting on the pencil," Severus commanded.

Calista rolled her eyes, and then aimed her wand at the pencil, repeating the spell. She kept her eyes locked on the ruler.

When she looked back, prepared to issue another sarcastic complaint, her jaw dropped. There were two identical rulers on the desk.

"I did it," Calista said faintly.

"So you did. Between that and your improvements today in Occlumency, I think you've earned your freedom for the rest of the weekend. Run along and eat flies, you tiresome child, before I change my mind."


	9. Year 1: Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine:**

"By now you should all be _experts_ at this spell. I will make the rounds and grade your final product. When I reach you, kindly hand me your essay describing the technical and historical aspects of the spell."

There was a flurry of activity as the students withdrew their pencils-turned-rulers, wands, and homework essays. Professor McGonagall began at the front of the classroom, armed with a length of parchment and a quill, with which she took notes on each student's transfigured pencil.

Calista watched with apprehension as McGonagall frowned over Portia's effort. She craned her neck, but couldn't quite see how well Portia had done in contrast to her own attempt.

She set her own ruler on her desk, and waited anxiously for McGonagall to reach her. When she did, the professor looked impressed – and, Calista noted waspishly, more than a little surprised.

"Well, Miss Snape, I must say, this is a far better effort than I expected from you – in fact, it's nearly flawless. Five points to Slytherin for your marked improvement."

She wasn't sure whether to be proud of herself or ashamed that she had apparently been so abysmal in their previous class practise sessions that McGonagall expected her to fail.

She smirked when she caught sight of Olivia scowling at her.

Once McGonagall had marked everyone's efforts, she returned to the head of the classroom for the lecture, where she announced that they would be practising on live mice next.

Calista groaned inwardly at this news, knowing that the added difficulty of transfiguring a live animal would likely trip her up.

At the end of class, Olivia rushed up to McGonagall as Calista was gathering her things. Calista thought savagely that Olivia was probably going to complain that she hadn't received top marks on this assignment. Transfiguration was her best subject, and it was a sore point whenever any of her classmates did better on an assignment.

Portia and Emily were huddled together whispering in the doorway, and Calista was just shoving past them when she heard McGonagall call her back into the classroom.

"Miss Snape!"

Calista half-turned, looking over her shoulder. McGonagall looked frighteningly angry all of a sudden, her cheeks red and her lips white and pressed together. Beside her, Olivia was gloating for no reason that Calista could discern.

"Come here at once," McGonagall commanded, and Calista adjusted the weight of her schoolbag on her shoulder and slinked to the desk, with the distinct feeling that she was in trouble, though she couldn't imagine for what.

"Miss Avril tells me an alarming story, Miss Snape," the professor said, "She seems to think that you cheated on your homework assignment."

"What—," Calista began, but McGonagall wasn't finished.

"Normally, I wouldn't take such stock in the word of one student against another," she said, "But I must admit that I was surprised in the sudden leap in the quality of your work."

"Hang on," Calista said, feeling heat rise to her face, "Are you saying I'm in trouble because I did _well_ on my homework?"

Olivia smirked, but quickly coughed and hid her mouth behind her hand when McGonagall cut her a look.

"You are excused, Miss Avril," she said pointedly. Olivia left, deliberately brushing her arm against Calista's bag on the way by, jarring the darker-haired girl slightly.

Calista followed Olivia out with her eyes, wishing that she could fell the other girl with the pure malice she was directing into her gaze.

When she looked back at McGonagall, the professor looked deeply disappointed, as well as angry.

"Did you transfigure your pencil yourself, Miss Snape?" she asked solemnly.

"What? I – yes, of course I did!"

"Miss Avril tells me that you have been quite friendly with a group of older students lately. She says she saw one of them transfigure it for you."

"That's a lie! That is, er, yes, I've been talking to them, but I did my own homework."

"Well," the professor said, "There's one way to determine the truth in that." She reached into her desk, and withdrew a pencil. Calista's heart sank.

McGonagall set the pencil on the desk, and looked at Calista.

"Show me how you did your homework," she said evenly, suddenly looking as though she was hopeful that Calista could prove her wrong.

"Right." Calista withdrew her wand, and pointed it at the pencil. She closed her eyes a few seconds, visualising the ruler she wanted to turn it into.

She whispered the incantation, willing the pencil to obey her for once.

Slowly, it flattened, and developed measurement marks.

It stayed, however, more pencil than ruler, and Calista felt her face drain of colour entirely.

"I see," McGonagall said, looking terribly disappointed. She swept Calista's effort away into her desk drawer, and when she looked up again, she was nearly shaking with anger.

"I do not appreciate being misled," she said, "Twenty points _from_ Slytherin, Miss Snape, and I will see you in detention on Saturday."

"But—," Calista began, and McGonagall interrupted her again.

"I strongly suggest that you take yourself out of my sight now, and I hope for your own sake that you _truly_ improve your skills in time for your exams."

**o-o-o-o**

Calista wished she'd just written the truth in her essay for McGonagall's class. Perhaps if she'd just admitted that she couldn't transfigure an object unless she was staring at an example of what it should be transfigured _into_, the professor wouldn't have been so livid.

McGonagall hadn't even let her explain, but she supposed it didn't matter much anyway, because she'd probably still be in trouble for not disclosing her method in her essay. She hadn't wanted to admit that she just wasn't any _good_ at Transfiguration, but now she had to bear the double shame of not being any good, and being considered a cheater.

It had taken every ounce of self-control that Calista possessed not to jinx Olivia the next moment that she laid eyes on her, but Calista thought darkly of her father's threat of sorting flobberworms.

Thinking of her father made Calista's heart sink even further, because she'd have to tell him that she couldn't make their Occlumency lesson on Saturday morning, since she'd be serving McGonagall's detention instead. It made her wonder if she'd _ever_ have a weekend where she was simply free to do whatever she wished.

Then again, whenever she thought of Bellatrix, whatever-she-wished quickly turned into further defensive lessons, anyway.

Calista spent the next several days avoiding her father to prolong the amount of time she had before she had to tell him she had gotten another detention, and desperately trying to correctly transfigure a pencil _without_ looking at an instance of the object she was trying to turn it into.

By Friday morning, when the former was inevitable and the latter was proving fruitless, Calista was in a foul temper. She arrived in the dungeon Potions classroom only seconds before the bell signalled the beginning of class, and rolled her eyes when she saw that the only empty seat was next to Portia, and Olivia after her.

Professor Snape announced that they would be brewing a Preservation Potion for use in pickling ingredients for future use. The ingredients list was simple, but the process could be tricky, because specific temperatures needed to be maintained at different stages of brewing.

While she worked, Calista heard hushed whispers being exchanged between Portia and Olivia, and glanced in their direction suspiciously. Olivia noticed, and giggled softly, an action which left Calista distinctly on edge.

She was stirring her own mixture in precise counter-clockwise strokes when she heard another giggle.

"Silence!" Professor Snape called, and Calista used their brief distraction to send a jet of flame flaring up underneath Portia's cauldron.

She knew she shouldn't have done it, but she was still angry about the incident in Transfiguration. She didn't think she could reach Olivia's cauldron without being noticed, and she felt that Portia had been priggish enough to deserve it, too.

Mere seconds later, Portia's cauldron turned muddy-brown and was eliciting a sharp, sour stench. Professor Snape came over to investigate, and Calista had to bite the inside of her cheeks to keep from smirking as he used his wand to clear the contents of Portia's potion and bade her to begin again.

"And this time, you'd do well to pay attention to the contents of your cauldron rather than the conversation of your friends, no matter how enlightening I'm sure it is."

Calista sniggered as soon as his bag was turned, and Portia cut her a look.

"You heard him," Calista whispered viciously, "Pay attention to your cauldron."

"At least I don't _cheat_ in Transfiguration," Portia said back, far louder than was necessary. Half the class looked over, including the professor, who had quirked a brow, either in disapproval of the noise or at the accusation Portia had levelled at Calista.

Calista looked steadfastly down at her cauldron, adjusting the flame beneath it. She waited until she no longer felt the eyes of half of her classmates on her to look up and see if her father was still looking in her direction. He was inspecting Oliver Wood's cauldron and denouncing its contents in much the same way he had Portia's sabotaged attempt.

"So," Calista whispered, "I didn't know that having Emily do your homework for you was allowed. It must be though, since you say you don't cheat."

"Liar," Portia hissed back, "You're just jealous because you're failing, Olivia says s—,"

"I do believe I asked for _silence_," Snape said, looking pointedly in their direction. "At least one of you really can't afford to make any further mistakes."

Calista watched her father, but by now he was keeping a close watch on their section of the classroom, and she didn't have the chance to say anything until the bell rang at the end of class.

"So what were you saying earlier, Portia?" Calista affected her best deliberately offhand tone, "Something that Olivia told you? You two sure are close friends these days."

Portia sniffed. "Jealous much, Snape?"

"What reason could I possibly have to be jealous of you?"

"Very funny. You need a list?" Portia tipped her nose into the air and took hold of Olivia's elbow, making for the classroom exit.

Calista wasn't sure what impulse made her call after the pair, despite the very real possibility that her father was still watching her, and she was essentially asking for trouble.

"D'you know she called you 'an ugly little misfit' too, Portia?"

Olivia steered Portia away, glaring over her shoulder at Calista. She didn't care. She had seen the wounded look of betrayal on Portia's face, and knew her comment had caused exactly the reaction she'd been hoping for.

She was still hovering near the classroom doorway, wavering between delaying speaking to her father about her detention the following day or simply getting it over with. _Why_ couldn't McGonagall have given her a detention any other day? Why Saturday, when she had no choice but to tell her father? None of the other students' parents were informed of every single infraction.

Just as she had decided to slink back to the common room and delay the telling, she heard a swish of robes, a swift step, and then a familiar hand was on her shoulder, steering her out of the classroom, and then a short way down the hall to an office she was beginning to be very familiar with.

"Professor McGonagall advised me to ask you about your latest Transfiguration assignment," Severus said, "I can't imagine why she wouldn't tell me herself what was amiss, if she deemed it so important, but I shall humour her anyway."

He looked expectantly at his daughter, who hunched her shoulders, clutching her Potions book to her chest.

"She… she thinks I cheated on the homework."

"Ah – and did you?"

"_No_," she said forcefully, "It's just because I didn't explain in my essay exactly how I did it – and then I couldn't do it again, in front of her, because I didn't have a ruler in front of me to concentrate on, and—,"

"_Enough._ I think I have the gist of it."

Calista sucked in her breath, and then let it all out at once. "Shegavemedetentiononsaturday."

"What?"

"Detention. She gave me detention, for tomorrow."

"I see. Did you tell her that you had other – ah, _lessons, _that would interfere?"

Calista tilted her head up to look him in the eye, her shoulders still hunched tightly. "If she'd given me a chance to explain _anything_, I probably would've started with the fact that I didn't actually cheat."

"A pity you can't seem to argue with your other teachers as effectively as you always seem to with me," he said dryly, and then realising to whom he was speaking, added, "_Not_ that I am suggesting you try. I can hardly enter the staff room as it is, without hearing about something you've done."

"Or _haven't_ done, in this case," Calista reminded him, "Because I didn't actually cheat."

Severus gave her a measuring glance. "You also weren't completely honest in your essay, by your own admission. Perhaps this will inspire you to improve you skills by exam time."

"Oh, I'm supposed to do better? Why didn't I ever think of trying that? Oh yeah, I have been trying – and I _can't_."

"Very well then," Severus said smoothly, "After your detention, and then your Occlumency lesson, we will work on your Transfiguration again."

Calista left his office wondering whether to be frustrated with the workload, or grateful that he was willing to help her.

Severus watched her go, wondering if he had ever been as prickly a child as she was. He suspected he must have been, or he wouldn't have smirked at the thought of Minerva McGonagall having to spend an entire Saturday with the little brat.

**o-o-o-o**

Calista scowled when McGonagall revealed the nature of her detention. She was meant to polish all of the trophies in the trophy room without magic.

She had decided that if McGonagall thought she was so hopeless that she couldn't even do her own homework, she might as well use it to her advantage. For the entire course of her detention, Calista brought every single thing she was polishing to McGonagall's office, to ask her if she was doing it correctly.

By the third trip, the professor looked like she wanted to scream at her student, but Calista adopted such a contrite expression on each visit that McGonagall only repeated, exasperated, that she didn't need to personally inspect every single piece.

After the twentieth or so trip from the trophy room to McGonagall's office, the teacher finally gave up.

"All right, Miss Snape, you may go. I understand you have some extra lessons to attend today."

Calista smirked on the way out, until she remembered that she really _did_ have extra lessons to attend.

She thought darkly that polishing trophies would probably me more fun than her father's rigorous Occlumency training.

Four hours later, when her mind and body were exhausted from the lessons, and she still hadn't made any progress in Transfiguration, Calista returned to the common room and collapsed in her bed.

**o-o-o-o**

_Calista flew high above a sea of fire, clinging tightly to the handle of a broomstick. She wasn't sure how or why she had wound up there, but she knew that there was something she had to do._

_A flash of silver to her left caught her attention, and she turned her broomstick towards it, her heart dropping into her stomach as the broom obeyed with jerky, jarring movements._

_Another flash, this time to her right. Calista swerved, clinging to the broomstick for her life. Whatever that silvery object was, she knew it was desperately important._

_Beneath her, the fire rose, hotter and fiercer. Calista felt a bead of sweat run down her face, ice cold against the heat of her skin. _

_An ember caught the tail of her broom, and Calista shrieked, tilting the handle wildly upward, urging the broom to rise higher._

_It was obeying, but at an agonizingly slow pace. The flames licked at her broom hungrily._

_And then she saw, far below her, in the heart of the deadly fire, a bright, promising flash of silver. It shone like a beacon, beckoning her forward._

_The flames were higher than she was now, and the broom didn't seem to want to rise any higher. She would never outrun the flames now. She had only one option left, only one hope for salvation._

_Trembling so hard she nearly lost her grip on the handle, Calista tipped her broom forward, preparing to dive towards the glimmering silver promise below her._

_Faster, faster, she dove into the searing heat. Her eyes burned and an acrid smoke tore her throat apart. She knew as she fell that she could never survive the heat of the flames._

_She could barely see anything between the fierce bright light of the fire and the tears stinging her eyes._

_Then it was before her, the bright silver light. Calista took one hand off her broomstick, feeling a silent sob being wrenched from her chest as she placed her life in the one hand that remained wrapped, white-knuckled around the handle._

_She stretched her fingers out, felt them brush something. It was a cool mist more than it was an object, but it was a relief on her red-hot fingers. She groped towards it, and felt it growing._

_The silvery fog encapsulated her, blocking out her awareness of the flames._

_And then, suddenly, she was lying on her back, feeling an equally agonizing chill all along her body. Her broom was gone._

_She couldn't see anything, but she felt as though she was lying on a block of ice. _

_She blinked rapidly, as if the reason she couldn't see was something that only needed to be cleared from her vision._

_Slowly, she became aware of things just outside of her body. The cold surface she was lying on was a marble floor, veined black and green._

_There were footsteps somewhere to her right. She hoped they belonged to someone that would help her, would tell her where she was and how she had gotten there._

_She felt a cold hand on her forehead, the soft skin and narrow fingers definitely belonging to a woman._

_The hand moved to cup her cheeks, and then a single finger was pressed over her lips, as if she had the energy to cry out anyway._

"There you are" _a whisper reached her from the same vicinity the hand had come from. _"I've been looking for you."

_Calista intended to suck in a cool breath of air, to open her mouth, but she found that the gentle pressure of the woman's finger over her lips held her quite effectively silent._

"Shh, now. There's no need to call your father just yet. Let's have a chat, just you and I."

_Calista lifted her hand, surprised at the effort it took to do so. It was as if each of her limbs was filled with lead. She brushed at the hand on her face, trying to push it away._

"There's no need to be afraid. We have been apart for so long, pet. I want to show you how I've missed you, and what we can be together."

_The voice was familiar, but the reason it had taken Calista so long to place the voice was because it was carrying a soft, warm tone that she had never heard before. She allowed herself to wonder if it could possibly be true; if her mother was going to apologize to her, to draw her into an embrace and promise never to hurt her again._

_It had never occurred to Calista, before this very instant, that it was a possibility which appealed to her, calling out to the deepest recesses of her heart, where she had never understood why her mother hated her so much. Why she always had to hurt her._

"Come, let us begin again. Everything will be better, this time. I promise."

_Calista saw the room gradually come into focus, saw the curve of her mother's cheek above her, began to be comforted by the light pressure of Bellatrix's finger on her lips. She didn't have to figure out what to say, her mother would say it all for her, would know the words that would take years of torment away._

"Let me show you. Let me show you, how we can change the past."

_Bellatrix leaned closer, a lock of her wild black hair falling softly onto Calista's cheek. She jerked in surprise, not prepared for the way her mother's hair burned her like a brand. Why was her hair so hot, while her skin was so cold?_

_Only, Calista realised belatedly, her mother's skin wasn't so cold anymore. Her lips, beneath Bella's finger, stung as if they had been burned._

_Bellatrix pressed her forehead against her daughter's. Calista felt possessed by the bright silver-grey glare of her mother's gaze, burned by the pressure of their foreheads touching._

"All you need to do is remember," _Bellatrix whispered, her lips separated from Calista's only by the span of her own finger._ "Just remember, and then I can do the rest for you, my child."

_Calista felt dizzy, and her head began to hurt badly. She felt blisters rising on her skin wherever her mother was touching her. And then a vision swam into her mind, the wavering image of a knife juxtaposed by the deceptively soft-looking hands of her mother._

_Calista felt as if a great wave was towering over her body, prepared to crash down on her at any second. And she knew, as surely as she had known to follow the silver light to escape the flames earlier, that if the wave broke over her, something terrible would be begun that could not be undone._

_Calista struggled, but she couldn't move anymore. She was so tired, and she knew she couldn't outrun the terrible, terrifying wave anyway._

_She felt Bellatrix's triumph, every bit as sharp as the edge of the knife that was still forcing itself into Calista's inner vision._

_And then, with the greatest effort she had ever expelled, Calista wrenched her eyelids down over her eyes, shutting out the glow of her mother's gaze._

_Within a fraction of an instant, the cold marble of the floor fell away, and Calista felt herself falling. She fell away from the hot press of her mother's forehead and fingers, fell away from the towering wave, and landed with a jarring thump on her own bed, in the Slytherin first-year girls' dormitory._

_Calista opened her mouth, sucked in a great gulp of air, and wondered why, if she had escaped the wave, her face was wet._

Then she realized that she was crying. She hated herself for it, not only because she felt it made her weak, but also because of the reason the tears had come to her eyes.

She had wanted so badly for her mother to be telling the truth when she'd said they could start over, and knowing that her words were empty hurt as badly as if she'd had to suffer her early childhood all over again.

At that moment, being strong and infallible fell to a distant priority. What she needed, more than anything, was simply not to be alone. She slipped out of bed, and through the common room, into the hallway.

As Calista traversed the dungeon corridors, she tried her best to force everything but her destination from her mind. She felt that if she didn't concentrate on simply putting one foot forward at a time, she would collapse into a wretched, trembling heap on the cold stone floor.

She didn't know what she would do once she reached her father's office; she simply knew that she wanted to be somewhere familiar and safe, to know that he was nearby, even if he was sleeping and had no idea that she was just across a narrow corridor from him.

And if her father was surprised to find her in the morning, curled up in his desk chair, then she would cross that bridge when she came to it, hopefully in the relative safety of daylight.

She was almost there when something brushed roughly against her ankles, causing her to stop short and stumble. She lost her balance and landed on the cold floor after all, and then an ear-splitting, howling _mrrroow_ rent the stillness of the corridor.

She barely had time to register with a sinking heart that she had stumbled right into Argus Filch's dreadful cat, Mrs. Norris, when the man himself materialised in the hallway.

Calista, like all first-years, had by now been regaled with all manner of terrifying stories about the castle's grim caretaker, so that she was properly petrified when he appeared, snarling threats at her.

"Who do we have, Mrs. Norris? Which one of the snot-nosed little brats have you caught out of bed?"

Calista felt herself wrenched upward by a vice-like grip on her arm, and then her face was inches from the caretaker's. She could smell that he had eaten something with onions at dinner, and it made her feel sick to stomach – although maybe that had more to do with the fact that Kimberly Avery had just told her last week that Filch still kept manacles in his office.

Calista tried to yank her arm out of his grip, but he was holding fast. Now that he had discovered her rule-breaking, he wasn't about to let her walk away. He peered into her face, trying to identify her.

"Little thing, aren't you? First-year, I'd reckon – what a _pity_ I'm not allowed to carry out whippings anymore, the firsties always scream the best."

Calista registered the threat before she registered the fact that he'd said he wasn't allowed to carry it out, and she wished suddenly that she had thought to bring her wand with her – she lashed out physically instead, felt her foot hit something soft, and Filch snarled, tightening his grip on her arm.

"You little _beast_!" he growled, dragging her along the corridor towards his office, "I'll have you banished from the castle, I will, for assaulting a staff member. Of course the best way to teach you a lesson would be to string you up by your ankles – but Dumbledore's gone _soft_ on you miserable little—,"

And then a silky, sleep-roughened voice cut neatly across the corridor.

"I can handle it from here, Argus."

The caretaker released her from his iron-like grip, and the joint relief of circulation returning to her arm and being rescued from whatever dreadful fate Filch had planned for her nearly made Calista dizzy.

"Father," Calista said gratefully, not quite realising she was speaking until it had already been done. She didn't care if he gave her a hundred detentions for being out of bed, she was so relieved to see him after the joint terrors of her nightmare and the Hogwarts caretaker.

"Oh, the sneaky little beast is _yours_, is she, Severus?" Filch spoke, not quite willing to let his prey alone yet, "She attacked me, you know. Thanks to _her_, there will never be a Filch Junior, if you know what I mean – you know what would keep her in line? A good whipping. I still have a good selection of implements, if you've the stomach for it."

Severus' voice was remarkably calm, as Calista sidled towards him by virtue of moving _away_ from Filch.

"As generous an offer I'm certain that is, I told you I can handle it from here."

Filch wrung his hands together, glancing down as Mrs. Norris wound herself between his ankles.

"Yes, yes, very well." He glared at Calista, shaking his finger at her. "If I catch you in the corridors in the middle of the night again –,"

"_Enough,_ Argus."

Filch and his cat finally went down another corridor, no doubt to catch some other unfortunate student.

Calista finally allowed herself to look up into her father's face, expecting to see ire written across it.

Instead, as his attention shifted from the retreating caretaker to his daughter's face, he looked concerned.

"Are you all right?"

Calista nodded, but was ashamed to feel hot tears springing to her eyes again. She reached one hand to her face to dash them away, and then she saw her father's hand held out between them, an offer.

Suddenly an image came to her that she hadn't even known she remembered; her father reaching his hand out to her, offering her his help when she was six years old and terrified by her dreams. Back then, she had refused to take it, willing to place her trust in no one but herself.

This time, she took his hand.

He led her down the path she had been intending to take when she snuck out of her bed, towards the perceived safety of his office.

He let go of her hand only once they were in his office, the door closed behind them. He moved a few bottles around on his shelves, and then took a small vial and handed to her. She unstoppered it, and recognised the soapy, relaxing scent of sopophorous beans, and knew it was a sleeping potion.

Calista downed the potion, handing the empty vial back to Severus, who collected it in a small bin on an upper shelf, and then sat down at his desk, shuffling through a sheaf of parchment.

Calista sat in the chair opposite the desk, pulling her feet underneath the hem of her nightdress, curling up as small as she could. She felt the tears on her cheeks drying, and they went unreplenished as she was comforted by the mundane sound of her father sorting papers.

She had never even realised that she found it so comforting, but she had grown very used to sitting in his office over the years as he pored over his students' essays. Somehow, it had always seemed easier to talk to him when one or both of them were busy with a normal, everyday task.

She was lulled into comfort when he lifted a quill and began to mark the top essay, as though this was what he had been planning on doing at two in the morning all along. Only his grey nightshirt and half-askew robes belied the notion, in fact.

As if he had sensed the moment when she began to feel calm and comfortable, he glanced up from marking.

"What were you dreaming about?"

Calista didn't even bother to ask him how he had known why she was out of bed.

"A lot of things," she said quietly, her voice falling flat as it failed to reach the far corners of the stone-walled room, "Fire. Flying on a broomstick that was hexed, or something. And _her_."

He gave no indication that he had heard her, instead setting quill to parchment again. Calista slowly felt warmth spread throughout her limbs, as if she'd just had a hot drink on a cold night. She loved the sound of the nib scratching across the paper; it was a promise of normalcy, of nights that would turn into mornings, and days that would in turn become restful, dreamless nights.

"At first, I was just flying on a broomstick," she continued, softly enough that she could still make out the scratching of his quill over the sound of her own voice, "But there was… a lot of fire, beneath me. I tried flying away from it, but the broom – it wasn't very good. Then I saw… I dunno, really, something silvery, though, and I thought I should catch it."

She closed her eyes briefly, and saw the bright red flash of the fire branded across the insides of her eyelids. The sleeping potion she'd drunk made a weak grab at her, but she wasn't ready yet; she hadn't managed to wipe the images of her nightmare out of the forefront of her mind.

"The fire kept rising, and the broom caught, but then I saw the silver whatever-it-was again, and I dived for it."

She opened her eyes, suppressing a shiver. "Then it was different, and I was lying on something really cold – I guess it was a marble floor. And there was someone there, but at first I didn't know who it was."

Calista slipped off the chair, suddenly unable to keep still. She crossed the small room to a set of shelves which housed many jars of pickled things. The scratching sound of her father's marking-quill paused, and Calista reached for the nearest set of shelves, obsessively straightening and lining up all the jars.

The quill began scratching again.

"She touched my face, and covered my mouth so I couldn't talk. She… she felt cold, and then hot, and then she said a bunch of stuff… about how she was sorry, only she never actually said that, I just sort of felt it. Then she put her face right next to mine, and her eyes were staring into mine, and… and then I knew that she was lying."

Calista moved a jar with something pale and slimy-looking in it, so that it was exactly the same distance from all of its neighbouring jars.

"She… she said I had to remember something, and I started to, but then I felt like… like something really bad was going to happen, if I listened to her anymore. So I closed my eyes, and she just kind of disappeared."

Calista heard only silence behind her, and turned. Her father was looking at her, his arm holding the quill suspended before him.

"I – It wasn't like my other dreams," Calista whispered, aware that a shiver had traversed her spine, and that her fingers were trembling uncontrollably. "I didn't just see her. I _felt_ her."

Severus set his quill down slowly, deliberately, and stared at the child with his glittering dark eyes.

"I wanted to believe her," Calista said, almost inaudibly now, "I w – wanted her to be sorry, to say that she really cared about me. I wanted her to be my _mother_."

Feeling positively wretched now that she had confessed this, Calista put her hands to her face, as if she could stuff the words back into her mouth.

"I know," Severus said quietly, and Calista was surprised to feel his hands come to rest on her shoulders, and even more surprised to notice that it was a more comforting thing, even, than the scratching of his quill had been. She hadn't even heard him rising from his chair. "It hurts, even when you think you've gotten beyond it, that she will never be what she should have been to you."

Calista had a strange but distinct impression that he wasn't really speaking about Bellatrix.

"I'm sorry I'm such a – a toad all the time," she said suddenly, on impulse, pausing as her face was split by a mighty yawn, "I shouldn't – you don't deserve that, you've always been good to me – I'll try not to be, anymore."

To her surprise, Severus laughed dryly. "If you _weren't_, I'm not sure I'd recognise you anymore."

"Yeah," Calista murmured tiredly, feeling her eyelids droop again, and this time lacking the energy or inclination to fight them, "I love you, too."

She didn't hear his sudden indrawn breath, in fact was barely aware of him leading her out of his office and into his quarters, letting her into the room that had been hers before she'd started at Hogwarts and been given a dormitory among the other Slytherins. She climbed into the bed and slipped under the covers autonomously.

Severus left the room, but he waited outside the doorway until he was completely sure that she was under the effects of the potion, would sleep dreamlessly for several hours.

He closed the door to her room, and whispered something inaudible into the solid wood of the door.


	10. Year 1: Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten:**

During the Easter break, more of the students remained at the school than had remained for Christmas break, but Calista didn't have the luxury of enjoying the expanded opportunity for company.

Instead, she was summoned to her father's office every single day of the recess, for stretches of four, six, or even eight hours at a time, to suffer Occlumency lessons.

Originally, Calista had enjoyed the subject, but it was a draining and expansive field of study, and the further she progressed, the more difficult it became.

It was unlike the rest of her lessons, because it couldn't be divided into units, and there was no stopping point. True, there were no essays, but it required a mental concentration so great that it drained physical energy from her.

Severus was convinced that Calista's dream had been an instance of Bellatrix trying, and nearly succeeding, to enter Calista's mind again. If Calista had thought him a demanding tutor before that pivotal dream (she had), it was absolutely nothing compared with what he demanded of her in their lessons now that he feared she was under attack again.

She wasn't even certain anymore how to gauge her progress, especially when there were no other students to compare herself against. She felt, at the end of each lesson, that she had progressed from the beginning of it; yet the beginning of the _next_ lesson almost always made her feel inadequate, because as soon as she had grasped something, Severus pushed her relentlessly onto the next thing.

Calista slowly came to realise that her Occlumency lessons of years past had been child's play. Before, she had thought that she was at least partially successful at keeping him out of her mind during their lessons; now she saw that he had never really been trying to enter before, must have left her to her privacy deliberately.

It was a gesture she appreciated, belatedly, now that she was faced with the reality of her father's abilities. His skills, as she now saw them, were very nearly immeasurable by Calista's standard.

It was hard to judge for herself whether she was making progress or not, because whether he deemed her attempt pathetic or promising, he was able to sweep aside her protective barriers as if they were completely insubstantial.

He had told her before that he was even better at Occlumency than he was at Legilimancy; if this was so, then Calista couldn't even fathom the true level of his skill, because as a Legilimens he was able to overpower her without any discernible effort.

Calista had intended to spend her free time during Easter break researching the spells on the list of jinxes, hexes, and curses that she'd compiled from the fifth-years, but by the third day of the recess, it was clear to her than any allegedly free time she came by would best be put to use by sleeping off her exhaustion from her father's lessons.

In truth, she was surprised that he even allowed her to sleep without a potion that would ensure dreamlessness, because seemingly overnight, he had become obsessively convinced that Bellatrix was trying to attack her again. His second deepest conviction was that Calista was not yet strong enough to defend against her mother. The culmination of these convictions led ultimately to Calista's newly gruelling schedule.

For her part, the young girl did understand the grounds for her father's concern; she too believed that Bella was attacking her again, but faced with the prospect of having to learn an extraordinary skill in precisely no time, she felt hopeless.

Still, she hadn't had any dreams to speak of since the night she'd been caught out of bed by Filch, and she knew that each night that passed uneventfully into the next day was another opportunity for her to hone her feeble skills, in the hopes that she would be prepared for Bellatrix's eventual onslaught.

**o-o-o-o**

Severus knew that he was demanding an awful lot from Calista, but it was a calculated sacrifice he was extracting, and he fervently hoped it was one that would prove fruitful.

When it became clear that Bellatrix was a lot closer than he had previously thought to making a connection with Calista again, he had cursed himself for not insisting on a more rigorous schedule of defence lessons before. He had hoped (foolishly, he now thought) that he could allow her the luxury of some semblance of a childhood first.

In order to facilitate her training, he had taken a gamble on her reaction to his unleashing the true extent of his ability on her mind. He had reasoned that a child of her age with her traumatic experiences was likely to respond in one of two ways to a Legilimens of his calibre. Either she would shut down completely and retreat into the recesses of her own mind, hoping that the intruder would leave her sanity intact when he was finished, or she would read his intrusion as a challenge, and place everything she had into fighting back.

He knew better than anyone that Calista was fiercely stubborn, and proud enough to continue to fight someone against whom she had no real chance of winning. It was in this regard that he knew he was walking a fine line, because there was a possibility that, in making himself enough of a threat to inspire her to work her hardest to learn to fight him, he would lose her trust. It was the reason he had so carefully protected her privacy before, but he wasn't certain that there was still enough time to train her using the gentler approach, and that _wasn't_ an issue he was willing to gamble on.

Severus knew that he was pushing Calista harder than was probably fair, knew that she shouldn't really be expected to hold up against this kind of rigorous training for very long. And yet, so far, she _was. _She was exhausted almost to an unreasonable level by the end of each session, but so far she had kept returning the next day to try again.

Severus was determined to push Calista to her utmost limits, in part because he knew that Bellatrix would do her best to get beyond those same limits, and – admittedly – in part because he wanted to see precisely what those limits were. He wanted to know, both as her protector and as the man who had fathered her, what she was actually capable of.

There was another aspect to the rigorousness of their lessons as well, one that was a benefit all in itself. With Calista so exhausted at the end of every day, and retiring from six or eight hours of keeping her mental barrier in place, she fell into a deep, virtually dreamless sleep – and slept with her barriers still unconsciously in place.

There were several mental states which made someone more susceptible to intrusion. Dreaming, intense pain, and painful memories were only a few of the triggers that could lessen one's defences. Bellatrix could hardly inflict physical pain on the child from her cell in Azkaban, and Severus had effectively eliminated the third of those factors when he had entered Calista's mind the previous year and pilfered away the worst of her memories. The combination of exhaustion and vigilance in their Occlumency lessons seemed to be keeping Calista's sleep dreamless, or at least shielded in such a way that it appeared so.

As for Calista's darkest memories, they remained in stoppered vials in Headmaster Dumbledore's office for the time being. In truth, Severus had not anticipated that Bellatrix would try to use Legilimancy through Calista's dreams to force her to remember the incident again.

When he considered what might have happened if Bella had succeeded in doing just that, an icy fist choked his heart. He had rescued Calista from Bellatrix's possession once, and he honestly wasn't sure if either himself or his daughter could persevere through that ordeal again so soon. Furthermore, he had obligations outside of his daughter's protection that stood to be greatly jeopardised if he were forced to oppose Bellatrix twice.

The choice between saving his own daughter's life and fulfilling his obligations to Albus Dumbledore on behalf of Lily Potter's son was not one that he cared to make.

The memories themselves were a cause for concern on Severus' part, because he could often feel Calista's frightened angst when she tried to remember the source of her physical scars and couldn't. However, he remembered with great clarity the horrific details contained in the memories, and he had seen the trauma they'd caused to the girl's young mind.

Since he had liberated them from her mind, she had changed drastically; she had begun to heal from the rest of her physical and emotional scars at a much greater pace, and she had begun to actually connect with others. Before Severus' battle with Bellatrix within the landscape of Calista's mind, the girl had spoken to no one but himself, and then rarely. Now, she engaged in class discussions and had several friends among the other students. Even the fact that she had made enemies with some of the students was an improvement on the child who hadn't even seemed to recognize humanity.

Logically, he knew that her memories would have to be returned to her eventually. Emotionally, he wanted to deny that, but to deprive her of them forever would be to send her into battle without knowing the size of the enemy's army. It was another motivator for him to press her still harder to improve her Occlumency skills, because as long as she could hold Bellatrix out of her mind, the battle between them could be indefinitely delayed.

The same part of him that wanted to deny the necessity of ever restoring Calista's memory in full had yet another reason for wanting Calista to become strong enough to successfully oppose Bellatrix. He knew that Bellatrix likely already resented his having fathered Calista, even though he hadn't known that she wasn't employing contraception at the time that they'd conceived the girl. She had made clear enough, during their youth, what she thought of his mixed parentage and his decidedly un-fearsome reputation among the Death Eaters. In hindsight, it became reasonable to assume that Bellatrix had taken assorted lovers with an intention to produce a child. She had always expressed a grudging admiration for his potential, and had only deplored his lack of application.

It would be deliciously ironic if Bellatrix failed in whatever undoubtedly vile plans she had for Calista because of the _application_ of his skills in the very child that he had unknowingly given her for her twisted malpractices. He was the one who had unwittingly delivered Calista into Bellatrix's mad phantasmagoria, and so it fell to him to equip the child with the skills she would need to wake from it.

**o-o-o-o**

As soon as the Easter break was over, the mood in the castle intensified noticeably as the students prepared for their year-end exams. In between classes, there were hardly any students wandering the hallways, but the common rooms and the library seemed to be constantly full.

Calista grew increasingly frantic as exams drew nearer and she still wasn't able to transfigure anything properly without a reference object to go by. It was as if her brain could only process half of the spell at a time, and her transitions were never complete.

She was grateful for her father's help, but she still couldn't seem to grasp the subject. He kept telling her that she was thinking too much about the technical aspects of the transfiguration instead of the final results. He said her indecision was confusing the spell, and Calista had pretended she knew what he meant by this.

She spent so much time trying in vain to improve her transfiguration results that she rather neglected to study for the rest of her exams until they were only a few days away, at which time she tried to cram as much information into her head as she possibly could, and prayed that she would retain at least some of it.

Adding to her nerves, as usual, were Olivia and Portia's antics. She was particularly on edge because she had absolutely no idea what Olivia's angle was anymore – the other girl had been curiously courteous of late, offering to save Calista a seat at dinner and even lending her a quill in History of Magic when she'd misplaced her own.

Calista was used to Olivia's meanness, and she found she didn't know how to react to her sudden change of heart. At first, she had assumed that Portia had managed to slight Olivia more than Calista had, but the two were still thick as thieves. Olivia and Portia weren't friendly to her, exactly, but they seemed…respectful, oddly. It left Calista with a decidedly uneasy feeling, because now she had no frame of reference to brace herself for whatever attack she knew Olivia must be planning.

She had also assumed that her father would ease up on the Occlumency lessons to allow her time to study for exams; he did not. In addition to her Saturday lessons, which had now been expanded to fill at least four hours, she was expected to sit in Severus' office while he corrected papers on Tuesday and Thursday evenings. While he did at least allow her to work on other homework during that time, he would keep probing her mind at random intervals, testing her ability to hold a barrier up while concentrating on other tasks.

She had ceased trying to gauge the progress of her improvements in Occlumency, and instead concentrated only on forcing herself to retain some semblance of a mental barrier at all times, since she never knew anymore when her father was going to surprise her with an unannounced test of her abilities

Between studying for exams, Occlumency lessons and surprise tests, her level of vigilance in regards to the other Slytherin first-years, and the numerous hexes and jinxes she had to research to keep the older Slytherins interested in her conversation, Calista was thankful to collapse into her bed every night, and slept so deeply that if she had dreams, she could not remember them in the morning. As each exhausting day crawled by, she found it harder and harder to get up in the morning, and twice she overslept and barely made it to class on time.

She fell asleep in Astronomy one night, and was mortified to have been woken by Professor Sinistra, in full view of the rest of the class. She had heard more than one barely concealed snigger at her expense.

Since she didn't care much for Herbology to begin with and it happened to be an early morning class, she was often exceptionally snappish with Professor Sprout. When the professor finally grew exasperated enough to assign Calista to detention, the girl had burst into tears, because she didn't know how she could possibly make time to serve the detention without cutting into her already short sleep schedule.

Of course, crying in public was the absolute last thing that Calista wanted to do, so she'd asked to be excused to the hospital wing, muttering something about a headache and disappearing before the professor could question her further.

As soon as she arrived in the hospital wing, Madame Pomfrey had ushered her into an empty bed.

"You just lie down, dear," she said firmly, and a few moments later she presented Calista with a goblet filled with a sleeping potion – the same one, in fact, that her father had given her on the night that she'd tried to sneak to his office.

"I—I have to get back to class," Calista protested, feeling vaguely unsettled – there was something she was supposed to be doing just now, wasn't there?

"Nonsense," Madame Pomfrey said, pushing the goblet into the young girl's hand. "You need to sleep. It's the pressure of the exams, they work you children far too hard this time of year. It can be so trying, especially on you young ones. Now, just lie back and get a few hours kip, that's a good girl."

Calista allowed herself to be mothered into drinking the potion and was asleep as soon as she lay down.

When she awoke, it was late afternoon. Warm sunlight streaked through the narrow windows at the far end of the chamber, and Calista realised with a sudden jolt of alarm that she must have slept through some of her classes.

"She's awake now," she heard someone whisper from her near left, and then three forms came into view. She hadn't even realised that she had visitors… and once she saw who they were, she wished she didn't.

"Olivia." Calista said flatly, her eyes sliding to Portia's plump form and Emily's slight one behind the ringleader.

"Are you feeling much better, Calista?" Olivia asked, far too kindly.

Calista narrowed her eyes. "What d'you want, Avril?"

Malice flew across Olivia's features so briefly that someone less perceptive than Calista might not have caught it; Calista herself might even have missed it had it not been for her restorative sleep. Almost as soon as it appeared, it was replaced with a stiff, sweet smile.

"I – that is, we – just wanted to see how you were doing. We were worried about you."

"Since when do you care about how I feel?" Calista asked, not bothering to hide the suspicion in her voice.

"That's not a very nice way to treat your friends," Olivia started, and Calista cut her off with a harsh, awkward laugh.

"You're not my friends," she said shortly.

Olivia's nostrils flared briefly, but her wooden smile remained in place. Portia tugged Olivia's elbow. "Let's go, 'Liv," she said, "I don't get why we have to w—,"

Calista saw Olivia's leg twitch, and then Portia winced like she'd been kicked.

"Of course we are," Olivia said easily, "Aren't we, Emily?"

Emily nodded, glancing almost apologetically at Calista.

"I don't trust you," Calista said baldly. Olivia flinched.

"Well," the fair-haired girl said, casting around for something to say, "I took notes for you in Binns' class, on the goblin rebellions, anyway. I'll let you copy them once you're out of here."

Calista smirked suddenly.

"No thanks," she said, "I'm not a cheater, despite what you told McGonagall. I think I know what this is about now, though. You're worried you're going to fail the Potions exam, aren't you?"

"They're notes, Calista, not my whole bloody essay," Olivia said coldly, in a tone that Calista was much more familiar with, "And this has nothing to do with Potions. I'm insulted. I tried to be nice to you, and help you out, and you repay me by being perfectly wretched."

"Yeah," Calista said impassively, "I _am_ wretched. Now shove off."

"Come on, Calista," Emily spoke up finally, from behind Olivia. "Olivia just wants to make peace, all right? It's not… she's not planning anything, I promise. Let's just get along again, please?"

Before Calista had decided quite how she would answer, Madame Pomfrey bustled over and told the girls they had to leave because they were disturbing the other patients.

"Not you, dear," Madame Pomfrey said, putting her hand on Calista's shoulder as the girl made to leave as well. "I want you to stay the night, just in case. We want to be sure you're not really ill, don't we?"

**o-o-o-o**

Calista never said in so many words that she would forgive Olivia and Portia, or befriend either of them again. She simply tolerated the other girls' attempts to be kind, although she still regarded both with a wary eye. In truth though, she was too exhausted from studying to look the gift horse too closely in the mouth; for the moment, Olivia and Portia simply became another potential complication that Calista didn't have to concern herself with.

Far sooner than she would have liked, exams began. Kimberly, Conor, and the rest of the fifth-years barely spared her a word or a glance as they all undertook their OWL testing, but Calista was swamped enough herself, and didn't really mind.

Calista thought she had done well enough in Herbology and Astronomy. She surprised herself during her Defence Against the Dark Arts exam; she had expected to do well enough, but the subject hadn't stood out for her particularly well during the course of her first year, and she didn't think she'd do any better than average on it. In the end though, when the bell had rung signalling the end of the testing period, Calista had looked up with a dazed feeling, thinking that the hour had only just begun, that the exam couldn't possibly be over yet – and when she looked down against at her parchment, and then glanced across the aisle at a few of the other students, she saw that she'd filled the page with paragraph upon paragraph describing spells that weren't even in the curriculum for her year, and had written at least twice as much as anyone else.

She felt pleased after the first few days of testing, particularly given the amount she had found to write for her DADA exam. She hadn't realised that all those discussions with the fifth-years had sunk into her mind as well as they had, and it had made up for her lack of formal studying in the area.

It was Transfiguration she was dreading though, and with good reason. The exam was a practical one, and consisted of turning a mouse into a snuffbox. Not only did Calista's snuffbox have whiskers in the end, but it still had a _tail_.

Discouraged after her poor performance in Transfiguration, Calista had been listless and inattentive for the first portion of her Charms exam. She supposed part of it had to do with weariness, but she knew part of it was that her self-confidence had been effectively shot. Towards the second half of the exam, she picked herself up and managed to perform a very neat Flame-Freezing charm. At the last minute, she changed the colour of the flames from blue to pink as well, hoping that the added complication to the spell would earn her back some of the points that she'd undoubtedly lost with her less-than-exemplary dancing pineapple. She hoped Professor Flitwick hadn't noticed that she'd only managed to make it walk in circles for the first thirty seconds of the charm.

By Friday, Calista was both disheartened and exhausted again, but the Potions essay was one she could have written in her sleep by that point, and although she wasn't the first to finish her Forgetfulness Potion, she was the first one to complete it _correctly_, so that was well enough.

She had been half expecting her father to give her an exam on Occlumency too, but mercifully he didn't, unless another random swipe at her barrier during dinner on Friday counted.

When she felt him brushing at her barrier, after a week of demanding exams, she couldn't help but feel quite snappish.

_Sod off_, she growled mentally at him. When she glanced up at the staff table, she could have sworn she saw his mouth twitching rather as if he were trying not to laugh.

Calista allowed herself a tiny smile, too. She could afford to; her blasted exams were finally over, and it was almost time for the summer break.

**o-o-o-o**

It was strange to be packing up her belongings to be going somewhere other than Hogwarts. After all, Calista had only lived in the South London flat with her father for one summer; before that, she had spent quite literally the better part of her childhood in the castle. It didn't feel like she was going home so much as it felt like she was going on holiday somewhere for the summer.

Calista's grey cat, Yellow, wound herself around the ankles of all of the girls in the dormitory as they packed up their things, purring in a manner that was somehow more demanding than complacent. The cat seemed to be as confused by the activity as Calista herself felt.

"I'll write to all of you this summer," Olivia promised, and Calista toyed for a moment with the idea of telling Olivia not to bother, but when she was honest with herself, she was rather tired of arguing all the time with the other girls in her year.

"Me too," Portia echoed, ever the follower. Calista smirked into Yellow's fur under cover of kissing the cat's forehead.

All too soon, the girls were standing amidst a sea of other students in the Great Hall, saying their final goodbyes for the school year.

On the Hogwarts Express, Calista chose the company of her fifth-year friends over her roommates. They might never get around to calling her by her given name, but at least she had a vague idea of where she stood with them, and she felt it was preferable to be a younger-sibling-like hanger-on to Kimberly and her friends than to try to traverse the conversational minefield that Olivia Avril always seemed to be at the centre of.

"Don't you have friends in your own year, Ickle Snapey?" Peter Boyle, the ginger-haired lad asked her when she entered their compartment but Kimberly had waved his concerns away.

"She's all right," the older girl had said, "We're not going to see her for the whole summer. Don't you want one last chance to corrupt her young mind?" Kimberly grinned, straightening her shoulders so far that they curved backwards, in a poor imitation of her rival, Elyse Briggs.

"Speaking of Elyse," Conor had piped up, "You staying with Ethan's kin again this summer?"

Kimberly had glanced at Calista, and then nodded. "So who's up for a game of Exploding Snap?"

Calista raised her eyebrows at the sudden change of topic, but knew better than to say anything, especially once Peter cut her a warning glance.

After the train had pulled into King's Cross and the students had poured out like prisoners being freed from Azkaban, Emily had pulled Calista aside, just before Calista met up with her father on the platform. Severus didn't take the train, although Calista wasn't sure exactly how he did get to and from the school.

"Calista," Emily said quietly, once they were away from the rest of the students. "I wanted to invite you to come and spend part of the summer holiday with me. Mum doesn't much approve of Olivia, so I couldn't ask when she was around, but…" the slight girl smiled shyly, "I figured maybe we could play a few games of Gobstones this summer. I don't want to get rusty."

Calista blinked in surprise, and then allowed herself a small smile "What – really? Er, yes, of course – I mean, I'll have to ask Father, but I'm sure it will be all right."

"Do you have a minute to meet my mother?"

Calista glanced over to where Severus was waiting for her. He didn't appear to be in a particular hurry, so Calista agreed, and followed Emily to a similarly built, brown-haired woman in a very smart outfit.

"Mum," Emily squeaked, as the woman pulled her into an embrace, "Er, this is my friend I told you about. Calista Snape."

Emily's mother released her hold on Emily, and smiled to Calista. "Hello, dear. It's so nice to meet one of Emily's friends. You'll come and stay with us this summer, won't you?"

"Uhm," Calista said, "I have to ask Father, but I… I think I can."

She felt a sudden, light pressure on her shoulder, and then her father was standing behind her. "Ah – Hello, Ferada," Severus said, inclining his head slightly in Emily's mother's direction. "I trust you are well."

"Well, it's certainly been awhile since I've seen you, Severus," the woman said, "Although I heard from my Emily here that you were teaching at the school. And you have a daughter in Emily's year." Her voice lifted at the end of this sentence, even though it was not a question. She sounded surprised, Calista thought.

Severus nodded curtly, a clear indication that he had no further comment on that particular matter. "Emily is a decent performer in my class," he said, and Calista had the distinct impression that he was trying to change the subject.

She was still considering whether or not her feelings were hurt by her father's obvious hesitance to discuss her with Emily's mother, whom Calista had not even know until this instant was acquainted with her father, when Emily's mother – Ferada – spoke again.

"Well, I was just informing Calista here that she's welcome to come and visit Emily over the summer," she said, "Provided that's fine with you, of course."

Severus nodded again, not quite so shortly. "I'm certain something can be arranged," he said.

"I'll write you," Emily promised, and Calista nodded slowly, still feeling slightly displaced by the twin revelations that Emily _wanted_ to see her over the summer, and that her own father appeared to be at least fairly friendly with Emily's mother, and she had never known it.

As Calista and Severus left the station, Calista found herself filled with the distinct feeling that her summer was likely to turn out a whole lot better than she'd anticipated it would even a fortnight ago.

"I'll carry your luggage to the Floo Station," Severus said darkly, "if you'll carry that wretched cat."


	11. Summer Break

**Chapter Eleven:**

"Okay," Calista said, around a mouthful of toast, "We haffa –," she swallowed. "We have to set some boundaries if you're going to keep surprise-testing me. Last time you caught me when I had a mouthful of juice and I almost choked on it. _And_," she continued sourly, "If you surprise me when I'm in the loo or something I'm going to go spare."

Severus lifted his eyes to regard her over the rim of his coffee mug. Their jet depths were impassive as always, and the rest of his face was obscured by the cup.

"What if Bellatrix surprises you while you're – using the lavatory?" he asked delicately.

"I guess I'll bloody have kittens," she retorted, and winced when what she could see of his expression narrowed into a glare.

"Kindly keep your language at least moderately respectful in my presence." Severus set his mug down on the table, and closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, he set his right arm flat across the table in front of him, and regarded her levelly. "It should set your mind at ease to know that I can tell which room you're in before I even attempt to breach your mind."

Calista stopped her hand halfway to her mouth, a corner of toast dangling precariously from it. "That's a bit creepy. Can you do that with everyone?"

"No. Nor can I tell which part of the castle you are in at Hogwarts, unless you're particularly distressed. I don't understand why it bothers you. When we're both in the flat, I could likely tell where you were simply by listening to your footfalls for a moment."

Calista rolled her eyes. "What if I don't want you to know where I am?"

"Then it's probably even more imperative that I do," he said dryly.

Calista grinned, although Severus couldn't begin to guess why. The truth was, she didn't _really_ mind her father keeping a fairly close watch on her, at least not when she wasn't doing anything she shouldn't be. Bellatrix had, for the most part, ignored her whenever she wasn't actively tormenting her, and although she'd never admit it, she secretly rather enjoyed the knowledge that someone cared enough about her to ensure she was staying out of trouble.

"So," she said, tilting her head as she nibbled her last piece of toast, "How do you know Emily Yaxley's mother, anyway?"

Severus considered his daughter for a long moment, during which Calista thought he wasn't going to answer her at all.

"I suppose," he finally said, "I know her in the same way that your mother knew her."

Calista coughed, and sprayed the table with chunks of toast. "She was a _Death Eater_?" she finally choked out.

He regarded her coolly. "Not everyone that was in Slytherin House during my time at school became a Death Eater, Calista."

"Then," Calista coughed again, in an attempt to dislodge toast crumbs from her windpipe, "Why'd you say it like that? What was I supposed to think?"

"Emily's mother was never a Death Eater, to my knowledge" Severus continued, "But there are people in her family that were."

Calista recalled suddenly a comment her father had made, once. _You'd be surprised_, he'd told her, when she'd made the declaration that none of her classmates had ever seen their parents commit murder.

"Emily's not like that, though," Calista said slowly, "Not as much as Olivia, anyway."

"She may not be. You of all people should know that one doesn't always have to be a direct reflection of one's parentage."

Calista blinked several times, screwing her face up in an expression of confusion.

"But I am," she said, "I'm a lot like you, or at least I try to be." After a second of further thought, her mouth twisted into a pouting sort of frown. "Although I'm obviously not as good at Occlumency."

Severus was hit by several responses at once, and wasn't even quite sure which one he was going to say until the words were out of his mouth already.

"That's not what I meant – and why would you _try_ to be like me?"

Calista's brow furrowed. "Why wouldn't I?"

Severus looked at her fathomlessly. "I'm sarcastic, rude, and critical of others, simply to begin a list," he said, not certain if he understood her angle on this sudden turn of the conversation.

"Yeah," she agreed, "Like I said, why wouldn't I want to be like you?'

Gods help him, the child was serious. Severus did the only thing he could do – he laughed.

"Perhaps you do take after me. A sufficiently frightening prospect, I'm sure."

Calista smiled brightly, an expression that frankly suited her features better than her customary scowl. "Anyway," she said, "There's all that stuff, I guess, but you're obviously brilliant, and you're the only one I've ever seen stand up to _her_."

"Well," he replied, trying hard not to smirk at her assessment of him – it was about damn time _someone_ recognised his positive character traits – "It seems to me that you've done an admirable job of the latter. And…"

Calista hunched her shoulders, but continued to meet his gaze. "Not really," she muttered, and Severus chose to ignore her, and continue with what he had been about to say.

"For what it's worth, you're a better Occlumens now than I was when I was your age."

Calista's shoulders relaxed, but her neck stretched into an exclamation point. "What – I am? Really?"

"Yes, well, I didn't have anyone teaching me," he said, finding himself falling just short of the ability to prevent his own pride from eclipsing his desire to empower his daughter.

Calista either didn't notice or didn't care. She cocked her head and smirked. "Am I better at Potions than you were when you were twelve?"

"Hardly," he said, "Sorry to disappoint you." He stood and began clearing the table of the remnants of their breakfast, directing plates to the sink with his wand.

"I'm not disappointed," she said, a mischievous glint lighting her dark eyes, "It just means I have to try harder."

"An excellent philosophy," he said, "Although I can't say I'm confident it will do you any good." He turned away, hiding his smile under pretence of checking the sink.

"We'll see – Argh, would you _stop doing that? _I'm supposed to be on holiday from lessons, you know!"

**o-o-o-o**

_Dear Calista,_

_How is your summer so far? Mine has been dreadfully boring – I'd hoped to travel abroad for most of it, Switzerland or some place like that, but Mother says she's far too busy at work to get away. I did tell you that Mother works for the Ministry, didn't I? She's got quite an important place there, but of course I shouldn't go on about it. _

_Speaking of my mother, she asked me to invite you to visit over the summer. I told her you must be dreadfully busy and likely won't have the time, but she insisted that I extend the invitation._

_Do enjoy your summer. I expect I'll see you again when term resumes._

_Most Sincerely,_

_Olivia C. Avril_

_Dear Calista,_

_How's your summer been? Is your father making you do homework the whole time? I hope you get to have some fun, anyway. I've been to Diagon Alley a few times to get ice cream, but I haven't done much of anything else._

_I know you're probably wondering why I didn't talk to you much while you were quarrelling with Olivia. You know how she can be, though. I didn't want her to treat me badly for being friendly with you, but I guess she wants to be your friend again, so I can too. I'm glad, because I missed playing Gobstones with you. _

_I hope you can come over and stay for a bit. Portia's coming next week, and Mum said she'll write to your father to ask permission for you to come as well. Please don't tell Olivia you're coming, because I'm not allowed to invite her. Mum doesn't really approve of her._

_Bring your Gobstones set when you come. See you soon!_

_--Emily_

_Hey Snapelet – _

_Got another one for your list. Expulso – the Exploding Spell. I used it a few days ago on a turkey Ethan's mum cooked and Elyse is still cleaning stuffing out of her ears. You didn't learn it from me, though, if anyone asks._

_-- Kimberly Avery_

**o-o-o-o**

"I expect you to remain vigilant, to keep practising the guarding of your mind. If you think Bellatrix is trying to contact you again, send me an owl straightaway. And whatever you do, _do not_ mention that I've told you anything about her relatives' involvement with the Dark Arts, and especially not with the Death Eaters – I shouldn't even have told you –,"

"I _know_," Calista interrupted him, setting her travelling bag down with a muffled _thud_. "I'm not stupid, I know enough not to say anything about that."

"Well," Severus said, not sounding entirely satisfied, "What about the rest of what I said? Don't let your guard down just because you know I won't be testing you. If Bellatrix should try to contact you again, you must notify me _immediately_."

"I _know_, Father," Calista repeated, "I will. Can I go now?"

"I suppose. Are you certain you don't want me to go with you to the train station? It's quite a walk to carry that bag all the way."

"You could just Apparate me to Emily's house," she said hopefully, hoisting the bag back up on her shoulder with an exaggerated grimace.

"Nice try, but no."

"What about the Floo network? Can't I take that?"

"Not by yourself. It's too dangerous, you could get off at the wrong grate and I'd have no idea where to find you."

"I could get off at the wrong train station, too," she argued half-heartedly, "And then I'd be lost and terrified among all those Muggles and none of them would help me."

"That's an excellent point," Severus said smoothly, "In that case, I suppose I'd better take the train with you to her house, to make sure you arrive safely."

"Ugh, no," Calista groaned, "Emily's family would think I'm an ickle baby if you did that."

"How is my taking the train with you any different from my Apparating you?"

Calista rolled her eyes. "Firstly, of course they know I can't Apparate by myself, so I'd need you to take me. Secondly, it just so happens," she said haughtily, "That the immense embarrassment I would suffer if you Apparated me is worth the convenience of not having to sit in a smelly old train with a bunch of Muggles."

"And you have now answered your own question," he said, placing a hand on her free shoulder, "You're obviously not accustomed to sharing the world with Muggles and you're not going to have a choice about doing so. The earlier you manage to learn to tolerate it, the easier life will be for you."

"You sound so _professor-y_," Calista said scathingly, although Severus decided to take it as a compliment.

He shifted his hand from her shoulder to cup her chin briefly. "Be careful," he said, "Ask Ferada to get me on the fire if you need me."

He saw a smooth transition behind her eyes as a retort came to her and she bit it back. Instead, she half-smiled at him and touched the elbow of his still-outstretched arm, as affectionate a gesture as he was likely to get from her.

"Try not to miss me _too_ much," she said, and he felt there was more behind her words than her light tone implied, "And don't forget to feed Yellow. I know you've been tempted not to."

Then she turned and left, closing the door behind her, and as if on cue, Severus heard a plaintive _mew_ from the general vicinity of the air behind his ankles.

"Shut it, you," he said darkly, glancing down at the inaptly named cat, "Or I'll feed you _to_ something."

**o-o-o-o-o**

When Calista got off the train at Kings' Cross Station, she spotted Emily and her mother waiting on the platform for her – and it was a good thing, because even as it was, she was nearly swept away among the teeming, harried crowds. For a few brief seconds, before she spotted her friend, Calista wished that she had allowed her father to accompany her.

"Calista!" she faintly heard, and then through a break in the crowd she saw Emily waving frantically at her. Her mother stood behind her, and as Calista pushed through the crowd to meet them, Emily's features spread into a smile.

The three jostled their way off the platform, and Emily assaulted Calista with a barrage of chatter that caught her completely off-balance; Emily had never come across as particularly loquacious, and yet she was hardly letting Calista get a word in edgewise just now.

"Mum says we can go to Diagon Alley this week for ice cream – Have you been to Florean Fortescue's? I'm sure you have, of course, but it's my favourite place. I'm so glad you could come, Calista."

When she finally paused for breath, Calista interjected. "Where's Portia? I thought you said she was coming, too."

"Oh…uhm, well, something came up, and she isn't coming. That's all right, though, we can still have fun, just you and I. I've already polished my Gobstones, it helps them roll further. I'm not going to lose, I hope you're prepared for that – you did bring your Gobstones, didn't you?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah. I did." Calista was bewildered by the other girl's apparently sudden chance in personality. Emily had always been quiet and perhaps even a bit shy. Why was she suddenly so giddy?

"Excellent! We can play as soon as we get home – oh, we could set up a tournament. Do you think that would be fun?"

"A tournament?" Calista queried, "With just the two of us?"

Emily blushed. "Well, we could set up rounds, you know. And whoever wins the round gets some sort of advantage in the next round… well, I haven't really thought it all through yet."

"Oh," Calista said shortly, at a loss. She wasn't used to Emily (or anyone, really) chattering so enthusiastically with her. How was she supposed to respond? Was she supposed to act the same way? Was this how friends were supposed to behave with each other outside of school?

"We don't have to do the tournament," Emily said, sounding somehow wounded, "It was just an idea – but we can do whatever you want."

"Oh, the tournament's great, it sounds fun," Calista supplied quickly, sensing that it was important to Emily for some reason. For once in her life, she was the one someone was trying to impress, instead of the other way around. She couldn't quite decide if she liked the supplication or if it annoyed her, but it was different, at least.

Emily continued on in the same vein for several minutes, with Calista offering a few meagre words edgewise, but if Emily noticed that Calista wasn't really holding up her end of the conversation, she didn't say so. For her part, Calista was so intent on following Emily's lively conversation, that she didn't take much stock of their surroundings as they walked, until they slowed and stopped in front of a building.

Emily's mother fished in the pocket of her skirt for a key, and Calista looked up at the building they had come to. It was an old, run-down Victorian terraced house, and when her eyes slid to the left and right of the house, she saw that it was sandwiched in between two very similarly run-down buildings. On the front stair to the building on the right, Calista thought she saw a pile of rags, until it moved and she realised it was a man.

Emily followed Calista's gaze, and suddenly seized her hand and yanked her towards the house. "Come on, let's go inside."

Calista started at the unexpected touch, and forgot about the man on the stairs outside as she concentrated on regulating her heartbeat. She cursed herself inwardly – would she ever stop overreacting whenever someone touched her?

She followed Emily up a creaky stair to the third and topmost level of the building. As they passed a door on the second landing, she could hear a woman screaming from the other side of the door. It was shrill and angry, and was punctuated with a baby's cries. For a reason she didn't completely understand, Calista suddenly felt sick to her stomach.

"Here we are," Emily said nervously, as her mother pushed open the right-hand door at the very top of the stairs.

Entering Emily's flat was like stepping into a world entirely separate from the common halls of the old building and the street outside. The first thing Calista saw was books. She supposed that the room they had entered into was meant as a sitting room, and after a moment, she did notice two old, worn-looking armchairs stuffed into opposing corners of the room and covered with warm, thick knit blankets.

All four walls of the room were lined with bookshelves, and they were all full. Calista's eyes widened as she took in spellbooks, history books, novels, and almost every sort of book imaginable. There were breaks in the rows of books only for windows and one doorway at the far end of the room, through which Calista glimpsed an oven and the spindly legs of wooden chairs.

Emily surveyed Calista's face expectantly, and seemed pleased (or perhaps relieved) with the expression she read there. "Mum works at Flourish and Blotts'," she explained, "She gets a good discount on books. We've got loads."

"It reminds me of my father's study at Hogwarts," Calista said, her eyes having already caught a collection of books on a lower shelf across the room which appeared to be potions books.

Emily's mother, Ferada, had deposited her keys in a room further along the flat, and came back to stand in the centre of the sitting room – or book room, as it were.

"Welcome, Calista. I'm so pleased that Emily's brought home a friend from school. Make yourself at home, and do let me know if you're hungry or thirsty. Emily will show you where to sleep and put your things, and we'll have dinner in a few hours. Do you need to inform your father that you've made it here all right?"

"No," Calista said slowly, "I think he'd be more interested in hearing if I _didn't_ make it here all right."

Ferada laughed. "You're a cheeky one, then. Very well, but I'm going to send him a brief owl anyway, to let him know that you've made it and that we're happy to have you. I know I'd be fretful if Emily were away for a week, even if I might not want to let on to her that I was worried."

"Mum!" Emily hissed, "You're embarrassing me. Come on, Calista," she said, reaching for Calista's hand again. She almost dropped her travelling bag, but her reaction to the unexpected touch far much milder the second time. She allowed Emily to lead her through the tiny kitchen and into one of two doorways set in the far wall.

Emily's bedroom was quite small, as long as the kitchen and half as wide. There was room for a single bed and a small chest of drawers whose top surface was crowded with personal effects, and the room's single window had bright yellow curtains. The bed was covered with a thick knit bedspread that reminded Calista of the chair covers in the first room, and there was an array of soft toys on Emily's pillow. All four walls were hung with posters, most of which advertised books.

"I thought we could take turns sleeping on the bed," Emily said, "The floor's hard, but Mum has a bunch more of these bedspreads we can put down to make it softer. My Gran knits them all and sends one to us every few months, and Mum doesn't like to hurt her feelings, so we've got about twenty of them, I reckon."

"I like your room," Calista said awkwardly, and it was true; she had a sense, standing in the tiny space that she was inside a piece of Emily, somehow. By looking at the posters, and the soft toys, and the ribbons and dolls that crowded Emily's room, she felt like she was seeing a representation of her friend.

Her own room at home was perhaps two or three times as large as Emily's, but it was bare in comparison. She had no keepsakes or knitted gifts from family members, and the top of her chest of drawers was empty of anything but dust. She didn't have any soft toys, or really any toys at all. Most of her personal belongings were textbooks and potion-making tools and the like, and she kept them in her school trunk at the foot of her bed over the holidays. Thinking about her own room, she suddenly felt as though she were only a ghost of a girl; that if she disappeared one day, there would never be any indication that she had lived at all.

"Thanks," Emily said, disrupting Calista from her reverie, "It's so small, I feel I can hardly breathe in it sometimes – but Mum gets these great posters from work, and I have all my toys from when I was small, so even though it's a tiny space it feels like it's all mine."

Calista nodded, feeling a sudden, inexplicable sense of loss. She set her things down in the corner of Emily's room, using the moment it took to clear her expression. She had progressed so far in Occlumency that she could actually _feel_ the sadness invading her features, and she forced it down and away, and presented what passed for a smile.

"What shall we do first?" she said, a bit too loudly, but Emily didn't seem to notice.

"Let's play Gobstones," Emily said, "Or – actually, let's draw up the tournament guidelines. We'll figure out how many rounds we should play, and which advantages the winner of each round will earn. I think we should play a different format of the game in each round, so we can find out who's _really_ a better player all-around." She paused to flash Calista a grin, "Of course it will be me."

"You've been playing a lot longer than I have," Calista grumbled, "You already _have_ an advantage."

"Maybe, but you're catching on really quick," Emily said, "Here, I'll give you the advantage straightaway in the first round – hang on." She slipped past Calista, passing through the kitchen and rummaging for something in the book room. She returned brandishing a sheet of parchment, a quill, and a large, flattish book. She settled herself on the bed, surrounded by a sea of soft toys, and patted the foot of the bed.

"Come on, sit down and let's draw up the rules."

Calista perched gingerly on the edge of Emily's bed, and peered over as Emily set parchment in her lap, using the book as a writing surface. She watched as Emily printed "Gobstones Summer Tournament Rules" neatly across the top of the parchment.

"In the first round, you'll get two shots on your first turn," Emily said, "To give you a slight advantage. We'll play to first to seven points the first game."

"All right," Calista said, allowing herself to be drawn into the preparations. "We should play part of the tournament outside, so we can play Snake Pit rules."

The girls dedicated the next two hours to drawing up the rules of their thirteen-game Gobstones tournament, and Calista gradually began to relax. By the time Emily's mother poked her head in from the kitchen to tell them that dinner was ready, she was leaning over the parchment and eagerly suggesting amendments to the rules, and had quite forgotten her earlier pang of sadness.

Over dinner in the tiny, cozy kitchen, the girls decided to spread their tournament out over the week that Calista would be staying, so that neither of them tired of it too soon.

"Besides, if we try to play all thirteen games in one day, our knuckles will get sore," Emily pointed out, "And this way, we have something to do each day. We'll play the first round after dinner tonight, and then we'll play one round in the afternoon and one in the evening for the rest of the week. We'll play three rounds the day before you go home, and the final round in the morning before you leave."

Between scheduled tournament games, Emily seemed determined to fill every minute of each day with some other activity. The girls weren't allowed to leave the flat alone, and Ferada was working almost every day that Calista spent there, but Emily had no shortage of games they could play in the flat.

There was one Emily seemed to favour, since they played it at some point every day, where they would determine each others' fortunes using only a book, a scrap of parchment, and a quill. One girl would hold the chosen book and direct the second girl, whose fortune would be told, to choose several numbers. She would the use those numbers to find words in the corresponding chapter, page, and line, which would supply an answer to whatever question they had asked.

"This round, we're going to find out who we'll wed someday," Emily said eagerly on the fourth or fifth day of Calista's visit, pulling a thick history book off the shelf. "The first letter of the first word you choose is his first initial, and the first letter of the second word you choose is the first letter of his surname. I'll go first. Here, you take the book."

Calista furrowed her brow and took the book, wondering why Emily seemed to find this question so intriguing. Calista had never once thought about whom she might marry some day, and now that she was being forced to think about it, she felt her face grow hot. Even though she really couldn't think of anyone she'd ever want to marry, she was distinctly embarrassed by the topic.

"For my first word, I pick chapter seven, page three, line eighteen, and word four," Emily said, closing her eyes as though she were getting some sort of cosmic enlightenment about which numbers to choose, "And for my second word, I pick three, twelve, eleven, and nine."

Calista thumbed through the volume, dutifully finding the word that corresponded to the chapter and line that Emily had chosen. "Probable," Calista announced, and Emily grinned and waved her on. "Now the second word," she instructed.

Calista located the right page again, and then announced the second word. "When."

"That means I'll marry someone whose initials are P.W.", Emily said, smiling. "I wonder if it's someone I've met yet, or some mysterious stranger. I kind of hope it's _not_ someone at Hogwarts. I don't really like any of the boys in our year."

Calista grinned suddenly, and then broke out into all-out laughter.

"What?" Emily said, defensively, "It's not my fault most of the boys in our class are disgusting."

"P.W., " Calista managed, "Percy Weasley! You're going to marry Percy Weasley!"

"I most certainly am _not_," Emily countered, her cheeks turning pink, "There's more than one P.W. in the world. There's no _way_ I'm going to marry a Gryffindor, and especially not Percy Weasley."

"Why not?" Calista couldn't resist teasing, "I'm sure you two would make a simply _adorable_ couple. In fact, I think I'll tell him when we get back to school…"

"You wouldn't," Emily said, sounding a little panicked, and she reached out to grab the book from Calista, "Anyway, before you take the Mickey out of me, let's see who _you're_ going to marry. Pick your numbers."

"Oh, all right, " Calista said, her laughter subsiding. "One, five, eighteen, and two."

Emily flipped the pages. "Many," she said, looking at Calista expectantly for the second set of numbers.

"Uhm… sixteen, three, nine, and five."

Emily located the page, drawing her finger across the proper line. When she stopped her finger, she was still for a moment, and then looked up at Calista with an expectant grin. "For," she announced, "M. F. Marcus Flint."

Calista scowled. "This is a stupid game," she said, "I'm not going to marry _anybody_, least of all Marcus Flint. He has the mental capacity of a troll."

"The book doesn't lie," Emily teased.

"Right, then I hope you and Percy are blissfully happy together. How many children are you going to have? Nine? Ten?"

"Ew," Emily said, closing the cover of the book. "I am most definitely not going to marry Percy Weasley. And I won't have time for ten children anyway, since I'm going to be so busy with my career."

"What career is that going to be?" Calista queried, "Do we need to consult the book again?"

"No," Emily said, blushing slightly, but her back straightened almost defiantly. "I don't need to, I already know exactly what I'm going to do. I'm going to write and publish spellbooks. I'll have my own press, and I'll release my own books as well as the ones I find promising from other writers."

"Wouldn't you have to discover or invent some new spells, to write a whole series of books?"

"Yes," Emily said, as if replying to a challenge, "And I will." She looked at Calista expectantly, and Calista received the distinct impression that this moment, and how she reacted to Emily's declaration of her dreams, would define the rest of their friendship.

"Well," Calista said, "I want to research new spells too. Maybe your press could print a book of mine some day."

Emily's eyed widened, and then narrowed in suspicion. "Are you having me on?" she demanded, "Are you being sarcastic again?"

"No, I'm not," Calista said earnestly, "I really am interested in discovering new spells. I've been wondering if some spells that currently require a wand to perform could ever be adapted so that you could use them without one. If I ever figure it out, maybe I'll write a book on that." She broke off, and laughed derisively, "Ask Professor Flitwick if you don't believe me, I practically write a book for each of his homework assignments anyway."

Emily studied Calista, and then smiled shyly. "I'd print your book. If it were up to my professional standards, of course."

Just then, the door of the flat opened, and Ferada's head poked in. "I'm on my lunch break," she said breathlessly, not even bothering to step fully inside the room, "I have to be back in half an hour, but if you girls can be ready in less than a minute, you can come back to Diagon Alley with me for ice cream."

With impressive speed, both girls slipped into their shoes, and Calista dashed into Emily's bedroom to retrieve some money from the bag she'd brought with her. She'd had nothing to spend her small allowance on over the summer, so she'd brought what she'd managed to save with her, for just such an occasion as this.

As the girls met Emily's mother at the door, Ferada looked over Calista with a strange expression. "Don't you need to wash up a bit? Go on, I can wait another minute or two."

"What? No, I'm fine," Calista said, but Ferada pressed her lips into a tight line. "Go on, dear," she repeated gently but firmly, and Calista suddenly felt a strange hollowness in the pit of her stomach.

She rushed into the tiny washroom off the kitchen, and examined herself in the mirror. Her hair hung lank and decidedly greasy-looking, although her face was clean for the most part. She scowled at herself, but thought the expression only made her nose look even more prominent, and so she wiped her face of any expression.

She didn't much feel like going to Diagon Alley anymore, but she knew that refusing to go now would only draw more attention to the incident, and she already felt like she was about to die of embarrassment. Ferada must have noticed that while Emily dutifully bathed herself every day, Calista hadn't done so once since she'd arrived several days ago.

It wasn't that she'd deliberately decided not to, but she felt a little funny about bathing at someone else's house, and she'd never really had a routine about personal hygiene, anyway. At home and at school, she bathed whenever she felt dirty, which sometimes meant that she bathed every other day, and sometimes meant that she'd go for stretches of four or five days without.

Now, resisting the urge to scowl again at her reflection, Calista ran the tap and poured handfuls of water on her hair. Then she pushed her wet hair behind her ears, silently praying that Emily's mother wouldn't make another comment about it.

When she rejoined them at the door, Ferada only smiled. "Are we ready now, girls?" she said, and they left the flat. It didn't matter. The damage was already done, and Calista felt sullen and forlorn for the rest of the day.

They went to Florean Fortescue's as promised, although by the time they'd reached Diagon Alley, Ferada had to rush back to work. She made the girls promise to come to Flourish and Blotts' when they were finished, and then left them on their own. Emily ordered her favourite ice cream, but Calista declined, no longer in the mood for sweets.

"I can pay for your ice cream," Emily offered, and Calista felt her face burn, both with embarrassment and with the effort to school her expression.

"It's not that," Calista said forcefully, "I have money. I just… I don't feel very well, that's all."

"Are you sure?" Emily queried, and Calista was struck with the urge to slap Emily, although she didn't really know why.

"Yes, I'm sure. I don't feel well, allright? In fact… I think maybe I should go home tonight."

"Oh – really?" Emily asked anxiously, "It's just one more day. You don't think you can make it that long?"

"I don't know," Calista answered shortly, making a presentation of looking around at their surroundings, but Emily didn't catch the hint.

"We haven't finished our Gobstones tournament," Emily said anxiously, "And you're only one game behind. Anything could still happen."

"I haven't decided yet, okay? Just leave me alone." Calista snapped, not really caring that she was being rude.

"All right. Sorry. What do you want to do n—Oh, no."

"What?" Calista looked back at Emily.

"Portia MacNair is coming. She's seen us – great."

"I thought you and she were friends—"

"Shh, here she comes. Hello, Portia! How are you?"

Portia approached the pair just as Emily had predicted she would, and to Calista's surprise, she met them with a scowl.

"I thought you said your mum wasn't letting you have any company," Portia said to Emily, "How come _she_'_s_ staying with you, then?"

Emily's face flushed, and Calista hid her surprise only through her training.

"She… she's not staying with me, Mum did say I couldn't have any company," Emily stammered, "She's just… we just… agreed to meet in Diagon Alley for the afternoon."

Portia redirected her glare to Calista, suspicion written all over her face. Calista spared a split-second glance at Emily, and caught the stricken look there. Emily's eyes were as easy to read as the lit sign above the ice cream parlour, and they begged Calista to play along.

"Is that a crime, Portia?" Calista challenged, pushing an edge of scorn into her words with very little effort. "Coming to Diagon Alley for the afternoon without sending out an announcement?"

Portia blinked, and looked behind her, as if she were expecting Olivia to suddenly appear at her shoulder and back her up. When it didn't transpire, she blinked again, and looked between Emily and Calista. "Well, no," she said, "I guess not. I'll, ah – see you at school, all right?"

When Portia left, Calista rounded on Emily, who was wearing an expression of mingled relief and dread.

"I thought you said you invited Portia and she couldn't come."

"I did say that," Emily stammered again, and bit her lip. "The thing is… Oh, Calista. I couldn't invite her or Olivia. You've seen where I live, it's… well, they'd never let me hear the end of it, if they knew what the outside of my house looked like, and where it is."

Calista absorbed this a moment. "But you invited me," she said quietly.

"Yeah, I did, and I'm not sorry. I was afraid to at first, but then Mum said she knew your dad, and – well, you never seemed as obnoxious as Olivia and Portia, and Mum was on my case about her never meeting any of my friends. I thought – I hoped that you'd understand. My mother works very hard to keep both of us in nice clothes, even though she says there's no shame in having to work hard for a living. No one at school knows where I live, except you – and you can't tell them, Calista, you simply can't."

Calista didn't really know where to begin. Finally, she settled on something. "I think I'm ready for ice cream now," she said, "And then we can meet your mum and go back to your flat for the next round of the tournament."

**o-o-o-o**

Later, in retrospect, Calista would think that she should have seen the nightmare coming. She had had a great week at Emily's, all things considered, had even won all three games of Gobstones they'd played that last day, effectively winning the tournament. She thought she'd finally really connected with someone her own age, maybe even had a real friend in Emily now. So, of course, on the final night of her stay at Emily's, she had woken up screaming.

The dream had started out in Calista's bedroom at home. She'd been trying to decide how to decorate her room, but every time she went to put something on top of her chest of drawers – the earrings from Olivia, her favourite book, her pewter cauldron – the item would disappear as soon as she had placed it.

In her dream, she had glanced up at her bedroom window, and seen Bellatrix's face outside of it. Her mother clawed at the glass, making a terrible, screechy scratching sound. She called out for her father, but when he entered the room, it was like he couldn't even see her. He stood in the room and looked around, looking right through Calista, and not seeming to notice Bellatrix fighting to get in through the window. Calista waved her arms and yelled, trying to get him to notice her to no avail, and when she looked down she found that she was almost invisible, and fading fast. She could see the floor of her room through her legs, could barely make our her hands when she moved them.

Then, the window shattered, and Bellatrix entered the room. Severus stood in the doorway, apparently unable to see either of them. Bellatrix smiled wickedly at her daughter. "I can see you," she said, and the words chilled what remained of Calista from head to toe. Bellatrix reached out a claw-like hand and grasped Calista's throat, which became suddenly solid underneath her fingers.

Calista screamed, but her father didn't appear to hear her. Bellatrix only laughed.

"Calista!" She was jolted awake by Emily shaking her arm. "Calista, what's happening?"

Calista closed her mouth, realizing belatedly that she had been screaming out loud. It took her a few seconds to fully comprehend where she was, and that she had been dreaming.

Ferada was suddenly in the doorway of the room too, her face creased with concern. Her eyes were a little foggy-looking, and she was in her nightclothes.

"Girls, what's going on? Calista, are you all right?"

Calista concentrated simply on not crying; why now, when she was in front of Emily and her mother, did she feel like bursting into tears? She hated crying, especially in front of anyone else; so why did she feel compelled to tears so often lately?

"I—I'm fine," Calista stammered, hating the way her voice wavered, "I just had a nightmare. I... I'm sorry I woke you up."

Ferada fussed for a few moments more, but eventually left the girls in peace. Calista rolled over in Emily's bed, facing the wall and silently begging Emily not to question her any further.

"Calista?" Emily ventured, and Calista stubbornly refused to answer, screwing her eyes shut tight and hoping Emily would think she had fallen asleep again already.

"What was your dream about?" she asked after a moment, and Calista still maintained her silence.

She heard a soft rustling, and then Emily was kneeling beside the bed, her voice so soft that Calista wasn't certain Emily even knew she was awake.

"I've had some nightmares, too. I don't think I've ever woken up screaming, but sometimes I wake up with tears on my face and I'm terrified someone will see them."

Calista opened her eyes, but didn't turn to face Emily yet.

"It doesn't happen very often," Emily continued, murmuring, "But often enough that I'm afraid it will happen when I'm at school, and Portia and Olivia will see. I.. I've seen how they treat you. I don't want that to happen to me."

"So you just let them tease me," Calista finally responded softly, "Because you were afraid of how they'd treat you if you took my side. Even though you _know_ what it's like."

"I never claimed to be brave," Emily said after a startled pause. Perhaps she really had assumed that Calista was asleep. "The Sorting Hat put me in Slytherin, didn't it? You should know as well as I do, us Slytherins aren't heroes. We just… we just try to survive, no matter what it takes or who it hurts."

"Survival," Calista murmured, "I don't remember hearing that one in the Sorting Hat's song."

"Don't judge me," Emily sighed, retreating to lie back down on her makeshift pallet of afghans, "You know as well as I do that once we get back to school, it's going to be the way it always was."

Calista waited until she heard the soft, deep breathing of sleep coming from Emily before she whispered her reply.

"Actually, I didn't know that."

She shut her eyes resolutely, ignoring the burning sting of unshed tears and went back to sleep.

**o-o-o-o**

Calista hadn't been expecting her father to meet her at the station when she got back home, but there he was. He looked almost comically out of place, amid the Muggles in business suits and street clothes, standing tall and pale with his longish dark hair and pitch-black travelling cloak, even in the heat of summer.

She'd probably never admit it out loud, but he was a welcome sight to her at that moment, even if she felt he was treating her like a little child, not trusting her to cover the short distance from the station to their home by herself. She rushed off the train, but composed herself several paces before she approached him, determined not to let him know that she actually wanted him there, after all her complaints a week ago.

Perhaps he knew anyway, though, because when she reached him, he leaned down slightly to take her travelling bag, and wrapped his other arm around her briefly in a partial embrace.

"How was your trip? I trust you had enjoyed your visit with Emily?" he asked, just as Calista said, "How's Yellow? Did you remember to feed him?"

Father and daughter bit back what surely would have been identical half-smiles, and both looked up at each other with the most careful of expressions in place, neither of them aware of the stark similarities between them that everyone else in the station surely noticed.

"Your cat is regrettably still in perfect health," Severus muttered, "Although if you'd left me caged with it for much longer, I don't know that I'd offer the same guarantee."

"I don't know why you don't like him. He likes you. Anyway, I did have fun, but I'm glad to be home now."

"Missed your cat that much, did you?" The question was so offhand that Calista bit back yet another secret grin.

"That's part of it, but I missed someone else, too."

Severus smiled, and this time Calista caught it.

"I must admit," Severus said, leading his daughter away from the station, "I worried about you a lot more than I thought I would. I kept wanting to call Ferada on the fire to make sure you were okay, even though I knew you'd be cross with me. I'm glad she sent me an owl when you arrived, or I might have called anyway."

"I wouldn't have minded, really," Calista said, wearied into honesty after the strange week she'd had, "I mean, I would have put up a fuss of course, but it's actually kind of nice to know that you worry about me."

Severus glanced down at his daughter. He couldn't read much of anything in her face, which made him at once proud as well as sad. Her confession surprised him; while he struggled throughout their relationship to be off-hand about his level of affection for her, and not to appear emotional or caring enough to drive her away, it had never really occurred to him that she might be doing the very same thing.

He felt a kick of fear in his stomach as he looked straight ahead, not daring to meet her gaze while he said what he said next. "Of course I worry about you," he said, perhaps louder than he intended to, but he wanted to make certain she couldn't miss his words, "I love you."

There was a dreadful silence that carried on for perhaps three or four paces, and then Calista reached for his free hand. "I love you too, Dad."

It was the first time he could remember her calling him that, instead of 'Father'. The word sounded unnatural, both in her forlorn voice and in the way it described him. That was all right, though. They would have years ahead of them to make the word work.

* * *

**A/N This (finally) concludes Part I. **I'm so sorry it took me so long to post this final chapter. I got caught up in holiday stuff, and then after not writing for a month I was just totally blocked on this chapter. I've been revisiting every few weeks but not getting very far, but today, after re-reading the whole fic from start to finish, I finally got back on track. Part II will cover second year, naturally, and should be updated within the next few days. I've decided not to split each year up into individual fics, so Part II will be posted as new chapters on this story, and continue from there. In the end I expect I'll have a monster of a fic, but I think it's the way I want to go with it, so no one has to add several stories to author alert for what's really all technically a contiguous fic.


	12. Year 2: Chapter 1

_**PART II: SECOND YEAR**_

**Chapter 1:**

Contrary to what Severus Snape expected of his daughter's nature, she elected to stand by him on Platform 9 ¾ rather than board early or greet her friends. When the last few students began to filter into the train, and Calista still stood stock-still beside him, he pressed a gentle hand between her shoulders.

"The summer holidays are officially over, Calista. Missing the train back to school isn't going to change that, I'm afraid."

"I know." Calista took hold of her school bag. Her trunk and the carrier containing her cat had already been loaded onto the train by porters fifteen minutes prior, but she had yet to join them.

Something in her dejected tone caused Severus pause, but the train was about to leave and took precedence over it for the moment.

"Go on," Severus bade her, propelling her forward a few paces. "I shall see you at school. If something is bothering you, we will discuss it later."

"Nothing's bothering me," Calista said coolly, slinging her bag over her shoulder and dashing toward the train. "You worry too much," she called, an afterthought.

Which may have been true, but it wasn't as if he didn't have good reason to. She had a sociopathic mother that was evidently able to mentally attack her in her sleep, a perpetually defensive demeanour, and a habit of getting herself into trouble.

On top of all that, he was fairly certain that she had lied when she said that nothing was bothering her. He sincerely hoped that whatever it was, it wasn't going to lead to her being harmed or killed. It was probably too much to hope for that it wouldn't land her in detention, but he decided to hope for that as well, despite the odds.

Severus sighed and checked his watch. If he Apparated to the edge of the castle grounds now, he would just barely have enough time to get his lesson plans for the first week of classes in order before the feast began.

It was quite a long walk to the castle, once he had been let in at the grounds gate, but he didn't mind. It was a warm, late-summer afternoon and he allowed himself to mull things over during the course of the journey.

He had thus far managed to keep Calista from meeting anyone who might recognize her as Bellatrix's child, but he feared their days of secrecy were drawing to a close. He was in touch, at least casually, with several of his old colleagues from Voldemort's inner circle.

Most of his old colleagues were spoken to out of necessity only, and rarely at that, and to these people it was easy enough to simply neglect to mention that he was raising a daughter. However, there were others to whom he knew he would have to introduce Calista soon, or risk arousing suspicion as to why he had not done so already.

He worried most about Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. He was their son's godfather, and yet they had never met his daughter. They had learned of her existence of late, but so far he had always managed to have an excuse not to bring Calista when he visited. He was not in such close contact with them since the Dark Lord's downfall that it was strange that he had neglected to mention her before, but now that he had, they wanted to meet her.

This last time, he had gone while she had been spending the week at her friend Emily Yaxley's had initially seen the venture as low-risk, because he had never known Adonus Yaxley very well, although he had been friendly with Adonus' sister, Ferada, in school. As far as he knew, Ferada and Adonus had gone their separate ways shortly before they'd left school.

No, it was definitely the Malfoys he was concerned about. Lucius might not recognize the child, but Narcissa surely would; after all, she was Calista's aunt by blood. If Bellatrix had allowed anyone to meet Calista when she was young, it surely would have been Narcissa.

And what would he do if Narcissa did recognize Calista? Feign ignorance as to who the child's mother was? In the unlikely even that the Wizarding Child Services Division of the Ministry ever did grant custody to a father without disclosing who the child's mother had been, Narcissa knew him too well to believe that he'd taken so many bedmates he honestly couldn't guess which one had carried his child.

In fact, he had always assumed that Narcissa believed Calista Lestrange to be dead, for his summation of her character was such that she would surely have offered to take her sister's child in once she resurfaced from the clutches of the Order of the Phoenix. And yet, when pressed during his most recent visit with the Malfoys, he had disclosed her given name, because he couldn't see a way to escape the question without arousing suspicion.

Neither Lucius or Narcissa had reacted to hearing her name, and it unsettled him almost as much as it might have if they _had_ reacted. Was he really so fortunate that even Narcissa had not known her niece's name? Had enough time passed since Calista's initial disappearance that they had missed the association? Or were the Malfoys simply having him on, letting him think he had slipped her true identity past them?

If he had been public about gaining custody of her from the beginning, it might have been easier. Of course he would be expected to seek her out and retain custody of her after Bellatrix had been imprisoned, when his suspicions about having fathered her were validated. Now, he had to contend with the years he had kept her secret from Bellatrix's former acquaintances.

Back then, he recalled that he had been so appalled by the wretched state of body and mind that he had found Calista in that he had not dared to share her with anyone but Albus Dumbledore. Aside from his nearly obsessive fear early on that she would never be able to recover from the way Bellatrix had begun raising her, there was the damage Calista could have done to his reputation at the time.

A crucial element to gaining Calista's trust had been confiding in her that he was not supportive of Bellatrix's views, and in turn, the Dark Lord's. If she had somehow revealed that truth to Lucius Malfoy, he very well might have been killed. At the very least, he would be in grave danger should the Dark Lord ever return.

She had come far enough in her recovery that Severus believed she would be able to handle an encounter with some of her mother's old friends, and she was quite likely accomplished enough in Occlumency to successfully hide his secrets; not from the Dark Lord, certainly, or even from Lucius if he chose to dig far enough, but the chances of that were slim. Lucius had no reason to mistrust him, and even less reason to think that a twelve-year-old girl _would_ be hiding anything through Occlumency.

He would expect Lucius or even Narcissa to perform a cursory glance at the surface of her mind, but he was confident in Calista's ability to resist collapsing to so minor a breach. Truth be told, it was part of the reason that he had made her lessons so much more rigorous. He couldn't keep her secluded from his acquaintances much longer, and it was imperative for both of them that she could keep certain secrets from them.

Perhaps he could simply tell the Malfoys something close to the truth: that he had located Calista, learned that she had been poorly treated by Bellatrix, and decided that she was better off separated from any part of her old life. It could play out in his favour, but it all depended on how close Bellatrix and Narcissa had remained during the final years before the former was imprisoned.

He couldn't see Narcissa condoning outright child abuse, whatever her shortcomings were, so he had to assume that she had never been aware of the extremity of Bellatrix's parenting methods. Still, he would be left in the precarious situation of needing to explain enough to convince Narcissa that he had been justified in keeping her parentage secret without explaining enough to expose any of Calista's weak points.

He certainly didn't want _any_ of his old acquaintances to know about the makeshift Dark Mark carved into Calista's back, because he still didn't understand the full implications of it. As for the rest of her traumatic memories, as it stood now they were little more than weapons against her, and what father would arm anyone with that kind of arsenal against his child? Perhaps some day, when she had truly come to terms with her dark past, she would be able to remember without regressing, but she was still young, and only so far down the road towards recovery.

There was the slightest chance that he would be able to avoid discussing Bellatrix altogether, however. Calista truly favoured him far more in looks, though her cheekbones were higher and her face even more angular.

Bellatrix must have had a reason for generally having kept Calista away from other people. Maybe she had seen Severus' mark on her even then and really _had_ hidden her even from her sister. Narcissa had never really made a secret out of her affection for Severus at school; perhaps Bellatrix had feared that Narcissa would make the connection and spill the proverbial beans.

It was a matter that he had considered at length before, and as he considered it again during his walk across the castle grounds, he found his mind turning in the same circles over and over again. There was no other way to find out, in the end, than to introduce Calista to the Malfoys on his next visit, and hope that he was sufficiently prepared for whichever set of circumstances arose.

**o-o-o-o**

Calista boarded the train far more reluctantly than she believed she'd let on to her father. He had guessed wrong when he'd assumed she'd wanted the summer break to continue. She was actually looking forward to resuming her classes, but before she could she had to face the train ride.

She had come to believe, for a few glorious days in the summer, that she finally had a true friend at Hogwarts. She had hoped that she and Emily would stand together against Olivia and Portia, but those hopes had been dashed nearly as soon as they'd managed to take hold.

She felt like a fool in retrospect; how could she ever have believed that gutless Emily would stand up to the self-declared princess of Slytherin House? She was angry at herself for ever believing that things could change, and disgusted with herself that she knew, even now, she wouldn't tell anyone what kind of neighbourhood Emily lived in.

She wanted to. Ever since Emily had made her offhandedly cruel remark at the end of their sleepover, she had burned with the desire to ruin her, to disclose every humiliating fact about her that she could, and perhaps a few fictions too.

The fact was, Emily had just as much information about Calista that she could as easily betray – and really, Calista knew deep down that it would accomplish nothing to ruin Emily. It wouldn't even really make her feel any better about her own situation, and without even the secret summer friendship with Emily, what did she really have?

"Calista!"

Calista was interrupted from her reverie by the sound of her own name. She recognized Emily's voice, and looked up to see her sometimes-friend waving from the doorway of a compartment several doors down the corridor.

"Hullo, Emily," she replied dully, prepared to walk right past her, but Emily reached out and tugged Calista's elbow. Unable to prevent herself from twitching just a little, she inwardly cursed Emily's apparently newfound habit of grabbing her unexpectedly.

"Come on, we've saved you a space."

Emily guided her into the compartment before relinquishing her hold on Calista's elbow, where she really had no choice but to take a seat or throw a fit. She chose the former initially, but hadn't yet counted the latter out of the running.

"Calista, _darling_, you simply must tell me all about your summer," Olivia gushed, and even someone with no Occlumency background could have called her welcoming, girlish tone as fabricated.

"It was hot," Calista replied testily, hoping she discovered Olivia's latest game before she fell victim to its punchline.

"That's not what she meant," Portia clarified, from what Calista considered her perch next to the reigning princess herself.

"Thanks, I didn't get that," Calista snarked, debating the virtues of throwing a fit after all. It had to be a better alternative than manoeuvring through the minefield of a conversation that she knew Olivia was gearing up for.

"My summer was great," Emily supplied, throwing herself into the seat next to Calista. "I met Calista in Diagon Alley for ice cream a few weeks ago."

"Ice cream," Olivia said, disdain dripping from her tone, even as she kept a false smile plastered to her face. "How… quaint. _I_ was supposed to go to Switzerland, but Mother was kept too busy at the Ministry."

"Oh," Calista said, too-sweetly, deciding to play along in just as transparent a manner as Olivia was displaying, "And I was certain that you'd gone after all, since I only received one letter from you all summer complaining about how dreadfully bored you were."

"Olivia wrote to you?" Emily asked softly, and then pressed her lips together, glancing at the two girls across the compartment.

"Olivia wrote to me _twice_," Portia declared, and it was all Calista could do to keep from laughing in her face. She didn't understand why anyone would want a tagalong like Portia, who practically worshipped Olivia. And as far as Calista was concerned, they deserved each other as friends; Olivia was a conniving brat, and Portia was an idiot.

"Oh, well, I was far too busy to write to _all_ of my friends," Olivia said offhandedly, but the damage had been done. Calista saw Emily slink down in her seat a few inches, looking defeated and hurt.

"I'm surprised you didn't find the time to write to Emily," Calista said, "Since you told me in your letter that you had hardly anything to keep you busy. I guess things must have really picked up for you after you wrote."

"Yes," Olivia said stiffly, finally flashing a look of contempt in Calista's direction, "yes, things did pick up quite a bit after I wrote you."

The look actually reassured Calista. She knew how to react when Olivia hated her. It was when the other girl introduced this false premise of friendship between them that Calista was caught off-guard.

"Anyway," Calista muttered, "I'm off. I think I'll go sit somewhere else."

"Nonsense!" Olivia said, half-rising as if to stop Calista from leaving, "We were just catching up. You haven't yet told me how your summer was, and I know it must have been _awfully_ busy as well, since you never did get around to writing me back."

"Oh, I wasn't really very busy," Calista said, unable to resist the urge to smirk. Really, the set-up had been too easy. "I just didn't feel like writing to you."

Olivia glowered, but to Calista's surprise, she didn't retort. She only replaced her plastic smile and turned to Portia to chat with her instead. Calista frowned to herself, unable to figure out exactly what Olivia's game was. Whatever her reason for wanting to make the appearance of a friendship with Calista, it appeared to very nearly outweigh her pride.

**o-o-o-o**

When Calista arrived in the Great Hall for the Sorting and the feast, she was presented with the opportunity of a lifetime; to openly snub Olivia Avril.

Calista had entered a little late, since she had been trying to locate her father in the press of people in the Entrance Hall. After a brief and fruitless survey of the crowd, she'd gone in anyway.

As she approached the Slytherin table, she saw Olivia waving at her to take an empty seat next to her. And then, as she had resigned herself to taking it, she saw someone else waving to her form further up the table.

"Snapelet! Oi, Little Snapey, come here and sit with us. We want to know what sort of trouble you got into over the summer!"

It was Kimberly Avery. Calista turned deliberately away from Olivia and the other second-years and squeezed herself into a seat between Peter Boyle and Conor Quinn, two of Kimberly's friends that she had met the previous year.

"So did you try it?" Kimberly asked, grinning at her, "The Exploding Spell?"

Calista thought she caught Ethan Briggs shoot Kimberly a glare, but she couldn't be certain.

"Er, no. Not yet."

"That's allright, there's time yet." Kimberly said, looking to the other sixth-years for support. "Any thing else we need to add to her repertoire before she begins her second year?"

If any of Kimberly's friends replied, it was drowned out by the general roar that arose in the Great Hall as the Sorting Hat was carried out.

A rip near the brim of the hat opened suddenly, and the first-years that were lined up a few yards away from it all gasped in surprise. When Calista saw the sixth-years chuckle, she did the same.

"_I'm not a cap you'd put a feather in,_

_And wear in place of pride,_

_But I can tell you what's within_

_Your pretty little mind!_

_I shall take a look inside your head,_

_To see where you belong,_

_I promise there is naught to dread_

_And I shan't take too long!_

_If what I see within is bravery,_

_Courage and succour,_

_Then I shall send you forthwith to_

_The House of Gryffindor!_

_If what I see within is learning,_

_A mind of wit and awe,_

_Then you will find your friends in_

_The House of Ravenclaw!_

_If what I see within is loyalty,_

_Kindness, hard work, and love,_

_Then I'll send you quickly to_

_The House of Hufflepuff!_

_If what I see within is cunning,_

_Pride, drive, and ambition,_

_Then I know you'll fit well in,_

_The House of Slytherin!_

The Great Hall broke into applause, and McGonagall unrolled the parchment with the names of all of the first years on it. She had just begun calling the first few names when Kimberly leaned in and whispered in Calista's ear.

"Listen, Snapelet, I don't know what you said to your dad at the end of last term, but he's been on my side when it comes to Elyse ever since I asked you to talk to him."

"I really didn't say much," Calista whispered back, feeling another surge of pride at the reminder of the false memory she had planted in her own mind for her father to read.

"Well, whatever you said, it worked. Keep it up, and I'll have your back too, when you need it."

"Thanks," Calista muttered, followed promptly by, "Bloody hell!"

"What?" Kimberly called over the roar of the Hufflepuffs, who had just received a new house member.

Calista shook her head distractedly, and found the staff table with her eyes. Just as she suspected, her father had made it to dinner – and hadn't wasted any time in springing a practical test on her.

She hadn't been expecting a test so soon and was caught completely off-guard. She scrambled to assemble a rudimentary defence, all the while trying desperately not to think about the conversation she'd just been having with Kimberly. Of course, as soon as she told herself not to think about it, it was all that she _could_ think of.

Odd, though. She felt him swipe at her pitiful excuse for a mental barrier, but she didn't feel him picking through any of her surface thoughts once he had breached it. Was he respecting her privacy, or was he simply so good at what he was doing that she couldn't detect him pilfering through her thoughts?

"Ow!" Calista was jarred when Kimberly elbowed her sharply. "Clap," Kimberly hissed, and Calista realised belatedly that Slytherin had just gained a new house member. She clapped along with everyone else, and craned her neck to see who the new addition was.

It was a solid-looking boy who appeared to be a year or two older than Calista rather than a year her junior, with hair in a mousy shade somewhere between blond and brown. He was the first student to be sorted into Slytherin, but they received another similarly built boy with darker hair and a slightly shorter stature a moment later.

Calista felt a surge of irritation as she watched Olivia welcoming the first years in what she personally felt to be far too enthusiastic a manner. Calista could practically see Olivia taking them all under her wing – which was of course, precisely what she had done with Calista in the beginning – and she doubted she'd have any friends among them once Olivia was finished.

Even given the trio of girls that Calista supposed were certain to become Olivia's newest followers, their house was looking decidedly low on new blood until the final two students, Christopher Warrington and Isabella Zabini, were both sorted into Slytherin, rounding out the number of new Slytherins to a respectable eight.

When the roar of applause for all of the newly sorted students had died down, the Headmaster rose.

"I have several announcements to make before we all tuck in to this fine feast. Firstly, as some of you may have heard, Professor Tolland had an unfortunate encounter this summer with a nest of vampires, and has subsequently decided to retire. We all wish him a speedy recovery and a happy retirement, and hope that he will one day return to Hogwarts to pay us a visit. Professor Septimus Foran will be joining us at Hogwarts this year to take over the responsibility for your education in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Please join me in welcoming him to Hogwarts."

There was a polite smattering of applause, and a few flurries of whispers as the students craned their necks to see the staff table. Professor Foran appeared to be a youngish man with a long brown ponytail and a skeletal build. He lifted one hand in a casual wave to the students as they clapped, but neglected to rise as he was introduced.

"Secondly, I have been asked to remind you that the list of objects that are currently not allowed in the corridors of Hogwarts is available outside Caretaker Filch's office. In addition, first years should note that the forest in the grounds is expressly off-limits to all students. Finally, congratulations are in order for this year's Head Boy and Head Girl, Mr. William Weasley of Gryffindor and Miss Flora Parsimmon of Hufflepuff, respectively."

Several of the Slytherin students greeted this announcement with hisses of contempt and disapproval, but they were drowned out by deafening applause from the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables. The Ravenclaw students clapped politely.

"And now – without further pause, let us eat."

**o-o-o-o**

Calista woke to the general commotion of her roommates getting ready for their first day of classes. She could hear a great rustling of papers and books, and sat up to find Emily frantically searching through a stack of papers and books on her bedside table.

"I can't find my green quill," she said, catching Calista's eye, "Have you seen it? The one from that set you gave me at Christmastime? We have History of Magic this morning, and I always write the dates in green."

"No," Calista said, reaching her fists to her face and rubbing sleep from her eyes, "We got our timetables?"

"They were slipped under the door," Portia said, wiping her hand across her nose, "Want me to get you yours?"

"No, don't, I'll –," she began, but Portia had already crossed the room to the area in front of the door, where a single sheet of parchment still occupied space on the floor. Portia flipped it over, and took a great deal of time longer on her return route from the door, her eyes roving parchment.

"Give it to me, you nosy twit," Calista said, pushing her blankets off and setting her feet on the floor. She made the snatch the parchment from Portia, but the other girl held it aloft, squinting at it a moment longer.

"How come yours looks different? You have extra classes, or something."

"Let me see," Olivia said bossily, reaching her hand out.

"Or you can give it to me, as it's _my_ timetable," Calista snapped. Predictably, Portia handed the parchment over to Olivia instead.

"You've got a class on Saturday," Olivia said, wrinkling her delicate nose, "And an extra one on Thursdays – Oh, Calista, I'm sorry." She sounded anything but.

"What?" Calista said, reaching around Portia to take the parchment from Olivia. This time she succeeded in snatching it from the other girl's hands, and scanned it with her eyes.

She was scheduled for a three-hour class on Saturday mornings with her father, referred to on her timetable only as "Elective Study Program". She nearly chuckled at that, because she knew it must refer to her Occlumency lessons, which she had most certainly _not_ elected to take on Saturday mornings. She supposed it had been written that way in her timetable because Occlumency wasn't officially an offered class at Hogwarts – and that she had been scheduled for it because her father wanted to ensure that she couldn't be assigned a detention in place of her lessons with him this year.

"It's just extra potions with my dad," Calista said, feeling her face heat up. Why was Olivia looking at her with that mingled look of smugness and pity?

"Look at your Thursdays. You've got Remedial Transfiguration."

"What? I do not, I'm in Transfiguration on Monday and Wednesday afternoons, same as you…" Then she trailed off. Olivia was right. She _did_ have a block on her timetable on Thursdays set aside for "Remedial Transfiguration", in addition to her regular second-year class.

"Well, McGonagall can stuff it," Calista said loudly, crumpling her timetable up and tossing it aside, "I'm not going to show up to her blasted 'remedial' lesson. I don't need extra lessons."

"Are you sure? The snuffbox you transfigured for exams last year still had a tail." Olivia smirked.

"At least I didn't nearly blow up the Potions classroom," Calista shot back, "Weekly."

"Don't get your knickers in a twist," Olivia huffed, "There's an obvious solution here. You help me in Potions and I'll help you in Transfiguration."

"Don't tell me – wait. What?"

"I didn't do poorly enough to get remedial lessons, evidently," Olivia smirked, and then hastily let it drop and started speaking again in a rush when Calista's eyes narrowed and her mouth opened, "But I'm not exactly the top student in Snape – er, your dad's – class. You can tutor me in Potions, and I'll help you with McGonagall's class."

Spending extra time with the two-timing Olivia was one of the last things Calista wanted to do, but spending the next six years of school in remedial lessons was the very last thing she wanted, so she resigned herself to the compromise.

"Fine," Calista heard herself say, "It's not like either of us has much of a choice."

**o-o-o-o**

True to her word, Calista skived off her first remedial Transfiguration lesson. She had intended to attend the first lesson, if only to ask Professor McGonagall for permission to study with Olivia instead of actually having to attend future remedial lessons, but as she sidled into the Transfiguration classroom late Thursday afternoon, she glimpsed another student, lounging against the far wall.

It was Marcus Flint, the Quidditch player. As far as Calista could tell, he spent an equal amount of time bashing his head on the Quidditch pitch and trying to get Olivia's attention, neither of which she considered a worthwhile pursuit. Furthermore, he was so obviously (in Calista's eyes) below her academically and intellectually. There was absolutely no way that she would share a remedial class with him if she had any say in the matter.

Marcus caught sight of Calista in the doorway, and grinned sheepishly. "I guess we're in remedial Transfiguration together, aren't we?"

"No," Calista replied, turning smartly on her heel, "We are so not."

She returned to the Slytherin common room as quickly as she could, for fear of running into Professor McGonagall in the corridors. Admittedly, once she had arrived in the common room, she had no idea what she would say if Professor McGonagall sent for her, or asked her later why she hadn't shown up. Maybe she could pretend to be sick.

"Aren't you supposed to be in extra lessons?" Olivia drawled, from a study table across the common room.

"Skived off," Calista announced brazenly, "Saw Marcus Flint in the classroom and figured they must have made a scheduling mistake. There's no way I'm being lumped in with _him_."

Olivia grinned. "Oh come off it, Calista. He might be as dumb as rocks, but he is kind of cute. And he's great on a broomstick."

Calista lifted her brows, surprised to find herself in a civil conversation with Olivia Avril, of all people. She had forgotten why they'd become friends at the beginning of last year in the first place; she remembered now that at one time, she'd actually enjoyed the back-and-forth conversational banter with Olivia.

"Cute? You really think he's cute?"

"Well, not cute enough for someone like _me_, but maybe for you or Portia."

"You're joking, right? I don't think he's _cute_ at all; I think he's a right troll."

Olivia snorted delicately. "You're one to be picky about looks, 'Little Snape'."

"You miserable hag –"

"Come off it, Calista. Everyone knows that's what those sixth-years call you. I have to admit, I can see their point – you don't have to look _exactly_ like him, you know."

"What are you talking about?" Calista spat, her face twisted into a scowl. Ah yes, now she remembered why she didn't care much for Olivia.

Olivia rolled her eyes nearly to the back of her blonde head. "You dress all in black robes like him, even at the weekend – you don't seem to wash or brush your hair much, and even when you _do_, it looks like you haven't, because it's in that same non-style as your dad's – For Merlin's sake, haven't you noticed? Scowling all the time with your face hidden under your hair, you look just like a smaller version of him all the time."

"I… I do not," Calista said, even though she wasn't really sure if it was true or not, or even if she'd consider it necessarily a bad thing. It had never really occurred to her to give a rat's rear about her appearance. She'd always assumed there wasn't much she could do with it, so why bother trying?

"You totally do," Olivia said, rising from her seat now that Calista didn't look ready to spit venom, "It's fine for him to look like that – he's a man, and a professor, and, well, frankly, he's old. But you're a _girl_, and you're nearly a teenager, and it's about time you looked halfway presentable, don't you think?"

Calista scowled, and then remembered that Olivia had accused her of scowling behind her hair all the time, and neutralised her expression. "I don't care," she said, deceptively off-hand. "I don't care what I look like."

"That much is obvious," Olivia retorted, but her expression was more pensive than vindictive. "Come here a minute, will you?"

"What? Why? What are you going to do to me?" Calista demanded, as Olivia fingered her wand.

"Help you, if I can. Maybe we can do something with that hair, at least."

"Why should I let you do anything to my hair?"

Olivia laughed. "Honestly, what have you got to lose? Stop being a prat and come here."

Calista stepped closer to Olivia, but put her hand in her pocket to grip her own wand tightly. "If you hex me or something, I'll turn your bogeys into bats and have them attack you."

Olivia stepped in close, the exhale of her derisive laugh fluttering against Calista's neck. "You do that, and I'll turn you into a bat yourself. Hold still."

Calista tensed, half-expecting Olivia to hex her, or kick or, or pull her hair, or _something_. She did feel a little tug on her hair, and then Olivia muttered a few incantations, pausing here and there to survey her results so far. After a moment, she stepped back.

"Wait right here. Don't go anywhere or look at yourself yet." She was gone before Calista could ask her any questions, dashing down the short corridor to their dormitory. When she emerged, she was holding a tiny bottle, a hairbrush and something shiny and green in her fist.

"What's in the bottle?" Calista asked suspiciously.

"Verity Lawlor's Vivacious Volume Leave-in Conditioner. It's from –"

"A posh shop in London," Calista said in unison with Olivia, who flashed a snide smile.

"Yes, it is. Mother has a contact; she gets an excellent bargain on it. Hold still again…"

Calista's hair flopped down over her face under Olivia's ministrations, and then was carefully brushed back and then parted over her left eyebrow. One of Olivia's incantations must have detangled her hair, because Calista admittedly hadn't brushed it that day, yet Olivia's hairbrush didn't hit any snags. She felt a tiny pinch near her temple, and then cold metal.

Olivia stepped back and surveyed her work. "You definitely need something more," she confided, "Maybe some eye makeup, or a Shrinking Spell on that nose of yours. Still, put on a decent pair of dress robes with some colour in them, and there'd be a marked improvement. Go look."

Still eyeing Olivia warily as she strode past her, Calista went into the lavatory off the common room and braced herself. She didn't like to look in the mirror, because she was always disgusted by what she saw.

Exhaling with the air of someone having delayed the inevitable as long as they possibly can, Calista lifted her face to look into the glass.

Well. That was certainly different. Calista turned her face this way and that. When she caught her nose in profile, she grimaced. Still, overall it was an improvement. Olivia had reduced the length of her hair drastically. It just barely grazed her shoulders now, but it no longer looked tangled and oily. It was shiny and thick-looking, and even moved a little this way and that when she turned her head. Olivia had parted her hair on the left, and clipped that side back with a small, flat green clip.

"What do you think? It won't stay looking like that unless you keep it up every day," Olivia said as she strode into the lavatory behind Calista. "You'll need to get some of that potion, and for Merlin's sake, brush it every day."

"It's… different," Calista said uncertainly.

Olivia huffed. "Of course it is. You look a little bit like a normal human being now instead of a – well, instead of like a smaller version of your father. I still maintain you've got a way to go, of course. Oh, and you can keep that hair clip now that you've used it. You're welcome, by the way."

"Yeah. Thanks." Calista deadpanned, the word tasting funny in her mouth.

"Of course, you're not going to get away with skiving off McGonagall's class, no matter how good your hair looks."

* * *

_A/N: As always, I'm open to constructive criticism. Please feel free to correct any typos or mistranslations from American to British English. Forgive me for the few bits in this chapter that may seem a bit random, I promise they all come into play later on. And while we're on the subject of forgiveness... Some of the class times might not add up - I know that at some point I had found a timetable online listing the most likely class schedules for the Gryffindors, which I'd planned to base the rest of the students' schedules off, but I looked for over an hour today and can't find it again, so I've just had to invent times for lessons and they may be off from what's in the books. Also, verse has never been my strong point, so please excuse the Sorting song ;)_

_Also: I've been receiving really encouraging reviews from Em, but they're unsigned so I can't reply to them as I try to do most of the others -- so since I couldn't reply, I just want to say thanks a lot for the encouragement, your reviews always motivate me to get the next chapter out!_


	13. Year 2: Chapter 2

**Chapter Two:**

Severus stared down blankly at the student's paper he was meant to be correcting for almost ten minutes before he realised that he hadn't read a word of it. He glanced at the student's name in the top corner, assessed the length of the write-up, and scrawled a letter in the corner: P for Poor.

He had a policy of grading the fifth years' assignments on the O.W.L. scale, and given how little this particular student seemed to have retained from the prior year so far, Severus thought he was probably being generous.

He set his quill down with rather more force than was necessary and allowed his scowl to deepen. Less than a week into the term, and he was already in a foul mood.

He had applied, yet again, for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position over the summer holiday, and once again, he had been passed over. Adding insult to injury, Septimus Foran, who had been assigned to the position, was at least five years his junior, so Severus found it hard to believe that he had really been judged fairly in experience.

Perhaps darkening Severus' opinion of Foran even more was the fact that the students absolutely adored the new professor. He was in his mid-twenties, and spoke more like his students than his fellow professors, and the majority of the female students were smitten with his looks and his air of youthful rebellion.

As if being passed over for the job he had aspired to practically his whole life by a candidate he considered inferior weren't bad enough, he had already been approached by Minerva McGonagall because Calista hadn't shown up for one of her lessons.

_As if I actually have any control over what she does,_ he had thought sarcastically to himself, reflecting on his vain hopes on the first day of term that Calista wouldn't land herself in detention again this year.

All right, in fairness, he had known that she would, he had just expected it to take a bit longer than six days. When he had wearily suggested that Minerva handled Calista's discipline in the same manner he would any other student, Minerva had snapped at him that she couldn't, because the Saturdays that any other student would spend serving a detention were occupied by extra lessons with _him_.

Finally, completing the triumvirate events that had utterly ruined his first week back at Hogwarts, two of his Hufflepuff first-years had managed to accidentally ignite what should have been inflammable materials and caused burn marks on one of the tables in his classroom that, so far, he had been unable to magic away.

Allowing himself only moments in which to recount his terrible week, Severus rubbed his temples and then picked up his marking-quill again, setting his attention once more to his students' papers.

His conscience had him re-reading the student's essay that he had only skimmed and, after careful consideration, he crossed off the 'P' he had scrawled and printed a clear, dark 'D' on it instead. It was shaping up to be a formidable term, not least of all for himself.

**o-o-o-o**

By Friday afternoon, Calista thought she had prepared herself for McGonagall's impending rage. She was wrong.

McGonagall was in the corridor as Calista left her last class for the week, or what should have been it, had her father not assigned her to his Saturday lessons. She was laughing at Olivia's impression of Professor Binns, when the sight of the Transfiguration professor standing outside the door of the classroom stopped her cold.

In less than a glance, Calista knew she was in trouble. She had seen Professor McGonagall angry plenty of times, more than a few of them at her. But now? Calista could swear her ears were actually emitting steam.

"Miss Snape," the professor's nostrils flared, her tone clipped. "I trust you can spare a few moments from your busy social life to speak with me in my office?"

"Oh, er, right now?" Calista stammered, glancing towards her classmates to see if they were watching. Some of the students had dissipated, but several remained, eyes glued to the interaction between student and professor, Olivia and Portia at the forefront of the group.

"Since Thursday afternoon was evidently a bad time for you, I'll have to insist that, yes, we have this conversation right now. We can either have it right here in the corridor, or we can move it to my office as I've suggested. It's entirely up to you."

As she spoke, Calista had to give her credit. She could see that the professor was making an effort not to shout her words to the whole crowd of students. The effort failed, but it was still a decent gesture, she supposed.

It didn't make her feel any less like disappearing into thin air, however. Calista set her jaw and ducked her head, nodding stiffly to McGonagall, and then the pair set off in the direction of the professor's office, McGonagall striding ahead and Calista struggling to keep up while pretending not to hear her classmates giggling and whispering behind her back.

All too soon, they were facing each other in McGonagall's office, which now seemed impossibly claustrophobic to Calista.

"I don't know what reason you had for not attending my class," Professor McGonagall said, closing her office door firmly before turning her gaze fully to Calista's face, "I do know that you weren't ill or injured, because when you failed to show up, the first place I checked was the Hospital Wing."

The professor met Calista's gaze, her lips pressed into a tight line. When Calista didn't reply right away, McGonagall spoke again.

"Quite frankly, you're the last student I'd expect this from. I've spoken to your other professors, and they all tell me what a diligent and inquisitive student you are, and yet I haven't seen that in my classroom since about a month after you first set foot in it. All this time, I've attributed it to difficulty with the subject matter, and then you insult my judgement by not even bothering to show up to extra lessons so I can attempt to help you grasp it better."

A response came quick to Calista's lips, but she stopped it at the last second. She wanted to point out that when she _had_ begun making progress in lessons, the professor had unfairly accused her of cheating, but she doubted anything she said would change McGonagall's mind about her. As far as Calista could see, the professor just didn't like her, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Calista's silence didn't sit well with McGonagall after all, though.

"This would be a good time for you to explain yourself, Miss Snape," she snapped impatiently. "Perhaps you think that you can pick and choose which classes you attend because your father is a professor here, but let me assure you that you cannot lay claim to any such luxury, nor will it keep me from assigning you three detentions for every one of my classes that you fail to attend."

"When have I _ever_ tried to hide behind my dad being a professor?" Calista demanded hotly, able but not quite willing to hold her tongue, "He's given me more detentions than anyone else, and if you think he's going easy on me then I must have imagined scraping eyeball slime and salamander guts out from under my fingernails, oh, half a dozen times last year."

McGonagall opened her mouth, her expression faltering, but Calista decided she'd already gotten herself in trouble by arguing with her professor; and there was no point in holding her words in anymore.

"_And_ you know what the other thing I've never done is?" she continued, her gaze shooting upward to meet the professor's eyes, "I've never cheated in your class, I swear I haven't, and if you don't believe me you can borrow some Veritaserum from my dad."

McGonagall's expression was briefly unreadable. "I'm hardly about to resort to using illegal potions on a student," she began, "But if you didn't cheat, why didn't you tell me so before?"

"I _tried_," Calista said, scowling, "You didn't believe me. And anyway, it didn't seem to matter. I'm not allowed to look at an example of whatever I'm trying to transfigure an object into for the exams, and that's the only way I can make the incantation work. If I couldn't pass the exam either way, did it really matter why?"

"If that's truly the case, Miss Snape, then I can't fathom why you didn't come to remedial lessons and explain this to me there, so I could help you."

"I guess I don't see the point," Calista said baldly, "I go to every regular class and listen to everything you say, and I've read the whole textbook three times and I still can't do it. Maybe I just can't transfigure anything properly, ever."

"I see," McGonagall said, eyes narrowing. "And how have you progressed since your second and third time through the book?"

"I've only gotten _worse_ at it, if that's possible," Calista mumbled, "I'm telling you, I just can't do it. And I don't say that easily, about anything, but I swear I've tried so hard. I _hate_ being the worst student in the class, and the only thing I can think of that would be worse is being the worst student in a _remedial_ class."

"I'm hardly surprised that reading ahead of your ability is only confusing you more," the professor said, her gaze softening somewhat, even though her tone was still firm. "There's a reason the lessons are in the order they are, and you shouldn't move on if you haven't grasped the prior lessons. As for being unable to _ever_ transfigure anything, well…"

McGonagall smiled then, completely catching Calista by surprise.

"The only students I can't teach are the ones who don't want to learn. If you're not one of those students, then I can help you. You'll attend remedial lessons as scheduled on Thursday afternoons, and if you're willing to work at it, I wouldn't be surprised if you no longer need them by the winter holidays."

Calista blinked, and then surprised herself even further by responding appropriately for once in her life. "I don't feel much like I'll ever catch up with the rest of the class," she admitted, "But I'll keep trying, Professor. I… I'm sorry I skived off yesterday. It won't happen again."

"It better not," Professor McGonagall said, in a tone that brooked no argument, "Or I will follow through on those detentions. In the meantime, you're free to go."

Calista nodded. "Thanks," she murmured, and slunk towards the door. As she turned the knob, McGonagall called a parting sentiment to her.

"I'd like to see the same student in my classes that all of your other professors are reporting. I have a feeling I'd quite like her."

**o-o-o-o**

On Saturday, Calista hadn't even reached her father's office before her Occlumency lesson began. She was eating breakfast when she felt a familiar prickling in her mind that told her someone was trying to get in. She cast a look at the staff table and scowled at the long-haired figure that sat almost halfway down it.

Severus, for his part, didn't even look at Calista, nor did he withdraw his presence from her mind. Instead, she had to concentrate so hard on keeping her thoughts hidden that she no longer even tasted what she was eating. The occasional glare across the Great Hall at her father was, as usual, ineffectual.

At nine, when her lessons were set to begin, she placed her utensils down on the table and glanced pointedly towards the staff table again, but Severus was already gone. Annoyed that she hadn't noticed him leaving, yet still able to feel his presence in her mind, she stalked along the familiar path to his dungeon office, where he waited for her behind his desk.

"You're late," Severus said, glancing up at a blank wall that didn't even hold a clock.

"No I'm not," Calista replied, "You were early. Since I wasn't even done _eating _when you started testing me, I figured I at least had the right to finish breakfast before moving the lesson here."

"That was an example," he said, "of what your lessons are going to be like from now on. I'm going to train you to multitask while fighting an intrusion. We'll start small, guarding yourself while otherwise engaged in simple activities, like eating or walking."

Severus didn't even have to glance at the scowl dawning on his daughter's features to know how to continue.

"I think you've shown me that you're capable of progressing to this level of Occlumency now."

Pride at the compliment warred with her earlier irritation, and she settled for a neutral expression. "Okay. I'm not hungry anymore, though, so I guess we can't try that anymore today."

Severus smirked. "Nice try. We'll go for a walk, then. It's warm outside; you won't even need your cloak."

Calista, suspicious after his earlier test during breakfast, kept herself on high alert as they walked to the entrance hall, but they had gone outside and a respectable distance from the castle before she felt him pry at her outermost mental barriers.

She couldn't say exactly how, but she knew that he was passing through them with an alarming speed. She stopped walking and closed her eyes, concentrating on pushing him back out of her mind.

"Keep walking," he reminded her, and she wasn't even sure if he had spoken aloud or had spoken the words in her mind. Either way, she stepped forward once, twice, and then stopped again, this time trying to draw strength to her defences.

"Walk," he reminded her again, and she felt his hand between her shoulder blades, gently prodding her forward. She took a few steps and then stumbled before remembering that her eyes were still closed. She opened them in time to see bright green grass hurtling towards her face, but a hand at her elbow steadied her.

"It's usually a lot easier to walk with your eyes open," he couldn't quite keep the mirth out of his voice, and she couldn't quite keep a neutral expression on her face as she glanced up at him, irritation showing in her eyes and a tiny crease in her forehead.

"Is anyone really going to take me for a walk while they try to invade my mind?" she queried, pausing yet again, and feeling him slip further into her mind as she preoccupied herself with arguing.

_Probably not_, his voice echoed in her head, _But they might catch you when you're mid-flight on a broomstick, or halfway through Apparating. Or, perhaps, you'll be questioned and will need to carry on a convincing conversation with a Legilimens._

It was the gruesome image that his words conjured in her mind at the mention of being mentally invaded while Apparating that convinced her to take up her pace again, redoubling her efforts. She had heard enough tales, mostly from Kimberly Avery and her friends, about what happened to someone that was somehow distracted mid-Apparition. Definitely not something she wanted to experience first-hand.

With an effort that actually made her head ache, Calista mentally pushed against his intrusion, attempting to simultaneously push him further towards the surface of her mind, and to strengthen the barriers that lay beyond where his influence lingered.

She felt him recede some, and was proud of her efforts until she looked down to see that her feet had stopped moving again.

_This is really difficult. _She hadn't even fully formed her thought when she felt his mental reply: _Yes, it is. When you finally master it though, it will open the door for Occlumency very wide for you. Your skills will always be severely limited until you can block an intrusion without outwardly appearing even to have noticed it._

After several more false starts, Severus slowed his own steps, allowing Calista to choose a slower pace that suited her. For the first hour or so, she kept stopping, even closing her eyes sometimes, and each time he gently prodded her on, both physically and mentally. When she managed an uninterrupted walk, albeit at a snail's pace, for fifty paces without him breaching her second set of mental barriers, he pushed a little harder.

Once again, she stopped, but this time he weakened his inward attack on her slightly. Snug between her first and second protective barriers, Severus could sense her growing seriously discouraged, and that wasn't his intention. He waited for her to resume her slow walk, and applied just enough mental pressure for her to struggle with keeping him from descending further without collapsing under the effort.

By the time their lesson ended at noon, she had matched her earlier fifty-pace streak, and then doubled it. Still, he couldn't approach her with the same level of concentration and force that he normally did during a sit-down lesson in his office without causing her to stop walking, close her eyes, or completely fold her defences.

All in all, she hadn't progressed quite as well as he'd hoped, but the thought made him wonder, not for the first time, if he expected too much of her abilities simply because she was his daughter. She was remarkably outperforming anything he could reasonably expect of a twelve-year-old; just not everything he had come to expect of _her_.

Was he pushing her into this level of training too soon because of his own arrogance, or was she truly ready? He couldn't say for certain, but he vowed inwardly to let Calista set the pace of the next few lessons, lest he discourage her and cause her to regress.

Fear for her safety urged him to push her to her limits during lessons, but he had to remind himself that he still wasn't quite sure how far her limits stretched, and if he threw her beyond them, she might feel too overwhelmed to truly take anything more from his lessons.

After he had released Calista for the afternoon, he gave it some thought, and he knew that the only way he could ever truly gauge her limits was to push at them until she broke, and that was something that he couldn't condone subjecting her to.

He knew he was quite possibly the only person Calista truly trusted, and forcing himself into her deepest secrets and private thoughts would shatter that trust as completely as anything Bellatrix could ever have done to the girl.

**o-o-o-o**

After being released from her first Occlumency lesson of the term, Calista considered joining her classmates where they undoubtedly were gathered in the stands of the Quidditch pitch, watching tryouts.

Deciding that navigating the manipulative twists and turns of a conversation with Olivia was more than her Occlumency-exhausted mind could handle, she headed back into the castle instead.

She briefly tried reading her Transfiguration notes from last year, but since they didn't make any more sense to her now than they had at the time, she soon abandoned that pursuit and wandered to the library instead.

She was the only student who was willing to spend a Saturday afternoon so close to the beginning of term in the library, which suited Calista just fine. Her presence there seemed to set the librarian on edge though, because Madam Pince didn't take her eyes off Calista for the first ten minutes of her visit.

Even after selecting a book from the history section to peruse and settling down at a study table didn't seem to ease the librarian's nerves, and Calista could practically feel the woman's eyes boring into her forehead from across the room.

She ignored the prickly feeling of being watched for as long as she could, before finally resigning herself to simply checking out the book to bring back to the common room. If Madam Pince was apprehensive about a student spending the second Saturday of term in the library, it was nothing compared to her obvious unease at lending the book out.

The book was obviously quite new, its spine still stiff and the edges of the pages still bright white, and the librarian stroked it reverently before examining it closely in front of Calista, as if to demonstrate to the girl that she knew exactly what condition the book was leaving her library in, and then she glared meaningfully at Calista, a warning not to return it in any shape that was less than perfect.

"I'm always careful with library books," Calista reminded her sourly, and the truth of it didn't make her declaration any less awkward as it bounced and echoed around the otherwise silent room.

"And now would be a terrible time to break that good habit," Madam Pince declared nasally, "So it better return within two weeks' time in exactly the same pristine shape."

Calista eventually made a safe exit with the book held in the crook of her elbow, but by the time she had reached the common room, it had begun filling up with other students.

Evidently, Quidditch tryouts had ended, and Calista cursed her luck. She'd hoped to be able to curl up in the common room with the book, perhaps even before the fire, but it looked like she'd be relegated to her dorm room now, and even that would only be quiet for as long as Olivia was occupied by flirting with the new Quidditch team members, or whatever it was that had her giggling at an impossible decibel level.

She had barely settled in her bed with the book on her lap when the door to the girls' dorm opened. Emily entered, and offered Calista a small smile.

"I thought I saw you come in here," she said, "I thought maybe we could play a game or two of Gobstones."

"Oh," Calista said, "Are you sure it's okay? Olivia isn't watching, is she?"

She had meant to be sarcastic, but Emily had either failed to pick up on it, or had chosen to ignore it.

"No, I reckon she'll be occupied for another hour at least. She's flirting with Marcus Flint again, and you know how _that_ goes."

"I try not to notice," Calista answered, flipping past the title page and table of contents, "And I think I've had enough of Gobstones over the summer to last me, oh, forever."

Emily looked wounded, and Calista met her gaze ruthlessly.

"Oh… I guess we did play a lot. I thought you liked to, though." Emily glanced towards the door and lowered her voice. "We could have done something else…"

Calista followed Emily's glance and then met the other girl's eyes again, in a ruthlessly direct stare.

"Well, I don't want to start a game and then have to abandon it partway through, because you're afraid Princess Slytherin is going to walk through the door and – and, I don't know, revoke your privileges of sitting next to her at dinner and doing her homework for her. It's not worth the setup to play half a round."

Emily's face drained of colour, and then flushed bright red.

"Calista, come on. That's not fair, you know it isn't."

"Yeah, whatever. Look, I just don't feel like playing right now, okay?"

Emily bit her lip, and slowly turned away. "Fine. It was just an idea. Forget I ever said anything, okay? We don't have to play ever again."

Calista wasn't sure if she should snappishly agree, or give in to the half-friendship that she knew was all Emily could offer her. She settled instead for saying nothing, and looking pointedly down at the text in her lap.

After a few moments, Emily took the hint and left, and Calista continued reading. It wasn't until she had finished the entire first chapter that she realised she had no idea what she'd been reading about, and would have to start over again.


	14. Year 2: Chapter 3

**Chapter Three:**

Three weeks into remedial Transfiguration lessons, and Calista was ready to declare herself a Squib and go home. At first, she had been bolstered by McGonagall's confidence that she'd be caught up with the rest of the class by Christmas, but at the end of her third week still trying to transform a pencil into a ruler and having nothing to show for it, she was beginning to seriously question her professor's judgement and her own ability.

Staring at a semi-flattened pencil for the better part of two hours wasn't even the worst part of remedial lessons. At the beginning of her remedial classes, she'd been several lessons ahead of Marcus Flint, who had still been learning to change a match into a needle and back. Even Marcus, however thick Calista had always assumed he was, appeared to be a more promising Transfiguration student than she was, and she even had Olivia and her father to help her out between classes.

By his fourth lesson (her third, thanks to skiving off the first lesson), he had caught up to Calista. Seeing his success should have driven her to try harder, but all it did was frustrate her. Marcus couldn't even hold up his end of a conversation without making himself look like an idiot, as far as Calista could tell. Why, then, was even he more adept at Transfiguration than she was?

Staring morosely at her stubborn pencil for the fifth week in a row, Calista wasn't even hearing McGonagall's advice anymore. What could the professor have to say that hadn't already been drilled into Calista by the textbook, her father, Olivia, even McGonagall herself?

"Try this, then," McGonagall said, evidently exasperated, "Close your eyes, and when you wave your wand, just _visualise _a ruler."

As if she hadn't tried that a thousand times before. Calista squeezed her eyelids shut and slashed at the air with her wand. She didn't even need to open her eyes to know that the spell had failed.

"Try a softer motion," McGonagall suggested, and then a clatter and a joyful shout rent the air in the classroom.

"I've done it, Mc—Professor," Marcus said, and Calista lifted her chin to peer across the room. Sure enough, a ruler sat on the table in front of him.

"Oh, excellent, Mr. Flint. See if you can change it back, now."

Marcus flicked his wrist, and Calista heard another little clatter as the ruler lifted itself off the desk a few inches and then came back down. It was, as far as she could tell, still a ruler.

"Hang on," Marcus muttered, squinting and readying his arm for another go, "I must've messed that up, somehow –"

The ruler quivered again, and grew a rubber on the end.

Mercifully, McGonagall left her post over Calista's shoulder to help Marcus, then. Calista gave her own work a few more half-hearted attempts, but Marcus' success evidently wasn't catching.

By then, Calista's frustration had grown so much that she wasn't even trying anymore. She waved her wand dutifully whenever McGonagall looked in her direction, but she was really just trying to run out the clock.

Another clatter from across the classroom and then McGonagall's voice: "That's better, Mr. Flint. Practise it back and forth a few times, and next week you can move on to transfiguring mice.

_Unbelievable_, Calista thought, angrily whipping her wand back and forth ineffectually and glaring at the strange pencil-ruler hybrid in front of her as though the force of her look would cause it to obey and change, _Marcus Flint is now officially smarter than I am._

Finally, mercifully, the class period was up. Calista shoved her belongings haphazardly into her schoolbag, desperate to leave before McGonagall had a chance to say anything else to her. In her haste, she collided heavily with Marcus in the doorway.

"Uhf," was all she managed at first, as she fought with her heavy schoolbag for balance. "All right, Calista?" Marcus asked, recovering from their collision much more readily than the slighter girl, and grasping her elbow to steady her.

"Yes – thanks – sorry," she managed, annoyed with herself. So much for making a speedy exit. She glanced over her shoulder at McGonagall, but the professor was gathering some papers from the desk at the front of the classroom. Good, she was occupied – the last thing Calista wanted was another lecture about the way she held her wand, or her method of visualizing the spell, or whatever.

It took her a few seconds to realize that Marcus was still holding on to her elbow. She met his gaze, and he offered her a smile that was surprisingly friendly. Calista thought it made him look almost likeable.

"You know, if you'd like, I can try to help you with that spell. I couldn't get it for a long time, either."

"Oh. Er, that's o-" Calista paused. Really, what could it hurt? She realized she wasn't any closer to achieving the damn spell than she had been months ago, when the rest of her class had first been learning it. The point at which she needed to swallow her pride had long since passed.

"Yeah, actually. If you don't mind. Maybe it would help."

"Excellent," Marcus replied, squeezing her elbow slightly and then releasing his hold, "Next time I see you in the common room, then?"

"Okay. I – thanks. It's… I don't know why it's so hard for me to get this stupid spell." Calista hunched her shoulders and exited the classroom, still feeling defensive about her progress in remedial lessons.

Marcus followed her out of the classroom and down the hall, pulling up beside her after a few paces.

"Yeah, I understand, believe me. I'm in remedial for three classes this year. If I'm not caught up by Christmas, I might get thrown off the Quidditch team."

A smirk found its way automatically to Calista's lips, even though she knew in the back of her mind that she wasn't really in a position to feel superior.

"Actually, maybe we could help each other," Marcus glanced at Calista, "I'm doing really poorly in Potions. I reckon Snape – er, sorry, your dad – I reckon he'll have my head soon if I don't pull it together."

"So you want my help with Potions in exchange for you helping me with Transfiguration? Aren't you embarrassed to be asking a second-year for help with your classes?" she asked bluntly as they climbed a staircase in tandem.

Marcus grinned sheepishly. "Well, a bit, yeah," he admitted, "But I'm right desperate at this point. Besides, Conor told me at Quidditch practise that you know loads of potions already that he learned in fourth year."

"Oh," Calista said, mollified, "Well, I guess I can try to help you a bit. It's only fair, right?"

"Yeah, sure. Listen, this is my next class. See you 'round, Calista." Marcus indicated and then entered the Charms classroom on the right.

"Yeah."

**o-o-o-o**

Saturday mornings, Calista met her father in the Great Hall with her cloak on. The days grew steadily cooler, and yet Severus insisted that they continue their Occlumency lessons out of doors until they had real snow to contend with.

"How are your Transfiguration lessons coming along?" Severus asked her as they strode down the stone steps onto the castle's expansive front garden.

"Dismal, as usual," she scowled. And then, remembering Olivia's comment that she scowled from behind her hair all the time, she sighed and relaxed her expression. "Honestly, I don't think I'll ever catch up at this point. Professor McGonagall has me spending my regular class periods working on first-year lessons still, and I'm just falling further behind."

"I can't quite fathom why you're having so much trouble." Severus nodded in the direction of the Forbidden forest, as walking several paces outside of its perimeter was one of the paths they sometimes followed during their outdoor lessons lately.

"Yeah, I know, it should be easy enough," Calista huffed, "According to you, Professor McGonagall, Olivia, and even Marcus Flint."

Severus glanced down at his daughter, registering a vague wounded look about her expression.

"Perhaps I should clarify. You're typically an exceptional student, except when something is blocking you mentally in some fashion. Do you recall how many months it took you before you could light a flame beneath your cauldron, when you were younger?"

"Yes," Calista said, pulling her cloak tight about her and hunching her shoulders.

"You were perfectly capable of lighting that flame all along. You simply thought you weren't, because on some level you must still have been convinced that you were a Squib. And yet, as soon as you lit the flame once, it was as remarkably simple to you as it should have been from the beginning."

Severus lightly brushed the exterior of Calista's mind as he continued speaking, pleased when he felt her barriers kick in, though Calista continued walking uninterrupted. He hoped it was further proof that Occlumency could eventually become second nature to her, the way it was for him.

"There must be something in your mind that's preventing you from learning Transfiguration. As soon as you determine what that is and move beyond it, I'm certain you'll improve drastically."

"Well, if you're right, I better figure out what's tripping me up soon, or-,"

Calista stopped in her tracks, and Severus prodded her gently forward. It was an odd routine that both of them were growing accustomed to, this stop-and-go walking while Severus swiped at Calista's mental defences and she struggled to sustain them.

Unlike in her Transfiguration lessons, however, Calista was improving from lesson to lesson. He thought she might not even be aware of the progressive nature of his tests. When they had first begun these walks, she had been able only to ward off the barest of attacks. Now, he was applying almost the same mental pressure that he had been during their sit-down lessons in his office, before she stopped walking.

"Or what?" he asked, as Calista trudged forward through the grass.

"Or I'll be… I'll be in remedial lessons forever," distraction was evident in her voice, but she continued walking. He felt her defences begin to quail, but then she gathered strength and reinforced them.

_Your barriers are getting better_, he told her mentally, _But I can tell you're hiding something, because you're not keeping enough in front of them. Remember, you need to fool me into thinking I'm seeing all there is to see._

She slowed, but didn't stop, and he felt a gentle flux of images and mild emotions enter the foremost layers of her mind. As she concentrated on filling his latest request though, her next barrier weakened slightly, and he slipped through it to illustrate to her that it had done so.

Immediately, he was aware of tension in this layer of her mind, and sadness. He felt pulled towards the emotions, wanting to see what was causing her to feel them, but knowing that he had to respect her privacy as much as he could. He retreated slightly, and then felt the echo of a thought within her.

_Is this good? I tried to make everything seem as real as I could._

Severus reached his influence tentatively around this portion of her mind, wary of stumbling onto something she didn't want him to, and he encountered a bubble of sadness.

_I wish my cat hadn't died_, it said when he reached for it. And then, _I'm never going to finish my Potions essay in time for class, _underlined with a dull, throbbing sense of tense urgency.

But Severus knew Yellow was (unless his luck had changed drastically) alive and well, and he hadn't assigned an essay to her class that week.

He stopped walking.

"Calista," he called aloud, stopping her in her tracks as well, "Come here."

She turned and crossed the several paces that separated them. "I thought I was doing well. What did I do wrong?"

Severus shook his head, and placed his hands on Calista's shoulders.

"That was excellently done," he said, and when Calista's eyes widened at the unexpected compliment, he coupled it with a rare smile. "I'm not certain if you realize how quickly you are improving lately."

"Does this mean you'll go easier on me now?" she retorted, but Severus didn't miss the way her face glowed in response to his praise.

"Nice try," he replied, the smile lingering a moment longer, "But no."

He noticed, with a surge of pride, that she still upheld her barrier and the bubbles of misleading emotion, even as he pronounced their lesson finished and they set off back towards the castle.

**o-o-o-o**

Calista regarded her reflection resolutely in the lavatory off the Slytherin common room. She was armed with a comb and the green hair clip Olivia had given her, but even with the same arsenal as her sometimes-friend, she couldn't reproduce Olivia's results.

Her hair hung lank and limp no matter which way she combed it, and she thought the hair clip just made her look pitiful – it let the world know that she had tried to look nice, and still failed miserably.

Had her ears always stuck out like that? She couldn't help but wrinkle her nose at the way the tips protruded from beneath her hair now that it was straight and tangle-free.

Deciding that it was hopeless, Calista yanked the hair clip out of her hair and shoved it into the pocket of her robes, turning away from the mirror and setting her jaw.

She would just never be pretty, she supposed. Or even plain. No, she was convinced that she was quite simply ugly, and nothing would change it. Whatever minor magic Olivia had been able to work was nothing she could do for herself, and she most definitely was _not_ going to give Olivia the satisfaction of asking for her help.

As she strode into the common room and caught sight of Marcus Flint, she felt a little pinprick of regret, like maybe she should have tried a bit longer to make her hair look nice. As soon as the thought had formed, she felt absurdly embarrassed for no particular reason, and scowled despite herself.

"Hallo, Calista," Marcus said, hefting his broomstick and some Quidditch padding, "You want to practise that spell?"

"All right."

"I just need to put this stuff away, and I'll be right back. You want to find a pencil?"

While Marcus thumped his way down the hall with his armfuls of Quidditch gear, Calista scrounged a pair of pencils and set them on a study table. She put her hands in the pockets of her robe while she waited for Marcus to return, and found herself clutching the small, cold metal shape of Olivia's hairclip in her pocket.

"Right, I'm ready when you are," Marcus had returned with his wand, and nodded towards the pencils on the table. "Why don't you show me how you've been doing it, then?"

Knowing that her cast would be unsuccessful, and feeling beyond foolish, Calista waved her wand. Predictably, the pencil flattened a bit, but remained very much a pencil.

"Huh," Marcus eyed her attempt, "The wand movement looks okay to me."

"No kidding," she said flatly, "I've only been practising for, oh, six months now."

"Well," Marcus scratched his head with the tip of his wand, "Are you distracted? My spells come out wonky when my head's somewhere else."

"Isn't it always?" Calista muttered, reflexively.

"Huh?" Marcus lowered his wand and peered at Calista.

"Nothing," she said, and waved her wand again at the stubborn pencil.

"You know what?" Marcus was eyeing Calista in a strange sort of way now, and he tilted his head. "You look like you're right angry when you do that—yeah, that there, the way you're casting the spell."

"Of _course_ I'm angry," Calista spat, "I can't get the bloody thing to work!"

"Well of course it's not going to work if you're spitting mad – s'only curses that helps with, right?" He offered her a sort of uncertain half-grin.

"I – what?" _Do curses work better if you're angry when you cast them? _she wondered, committing the idea to the back of her mind for later.

"Right then," she said, eying Marcus suspiciously, "How am I supposed to get _un-_angry, then?"

Marcus laughed, and when Calista scowled in response, he only laughed harder.

"You're not taking the piss out of me?" he wondered, when Calista didn't join him, "You really are an angry little person like they say then, eh?"

Marcus seemed to find this all rather amusing; Calista, on the other hand, was livid.

"Like _who_ say?" she demanded, unconsciously gripping her wand tighter.

"Oh, everyone," Marcus continued breezily, still seeming as if he were the one to deliver the punch-line of an excellent joke to Calista – and evidently, Calista thought, completely unaware how close he was to being hexed, allowing her to test the new theory he had just planted with her.

"Olivia says so of course, but she's – well, you know. All of Conor's friends say so too – at Quidditch practise he said you're nearly as bad as Kim Avery, and everyone knows she's off her rocker – s'why he made her a Beater, you know – Hey," Marcus eyed Calista in that queer way again, either not noticing that she had gone apoplectic by this point, or not feeling threatened by her anger.

"What?" Calista's voice was faint; even she wasn't certain if it was because she was so angry she was losing her voice as well as her temper, or if she was shocked by the revelation that her housemates had all noticed her tendency to do just that.

"You could go out for Reserve Beater, you know," he said, and he sounded enthusiastic enough about it that Calista realised he was serious, "That's the other thing anger is good for – hexes and Bludgers."

"What?" Calista repeated, her ire diffusing only in light of Marcus' apparent sudden lapse of sanity, as she saw it. "_Me?_ Play Quidditch?"

"Yeah, why not?" Marcus' expression now mirrored Calista's confusion.

"_Because I am terrified of flying_," she actually squeaked out, surprised into confession; immediately, she regretted it, and pressed her hand to her mouth.

"Why?" he wondered, "It's loads of fun once you get used to it – come down to practise some time, why don't you, and knock a Bludger around for awhile – I bet anything you'll be able to cast that spell afterwards."

Calista opened her mouth with no notion of what was going to come out of it, and then the wall of the common room opened up and students began to fill up the common room, evidently done with classes for the afternoon.

"Think about it," Marcus tapped his head illustratively with his wand and then grinned at her, "You keep fighting with that spell long enough and I reckon you'll come 'round."

Calista closed her mouth belatedly, and gathered the offending ruler, shoving it and her wand into the pockets of her robes, and marching out of the common room. She had to get to the library, or perhaps her father's office; some place where the usual rules of the universe still applied, and no one expected her to fly around on a bloody _broomstick_, hitting things.

**o-o-o-o**

_Olivia,_

_I trust your second year has gone well so far. You are excelling in your studies, I presume? With all the money I pay for that school, they ought to be teaching you something worthwhile. We are well at home; Father's health is the same as always._

_I'm writing to you about something you'll recall we discussed over the summer. That classmate of yours, the professor's daughter – I think I've pieced together who her mother is, after all._

_The only woman it could possibly be, given the girl's age and your description of what she said her mother was in Azkaban for, is Bellatrix Lestrange. I admit I overlooked her at first, since her husband is in Azkaban and certainly not teaching at Hogwarts, but I've looked at the _Daily Prophet _articles from those days, and I'm certain that she's the only one who fits, unless your classmate lied to you._

_I feel the need to impress upon you that the Lestranges are regarded as extremely dangerous by the Ministry, and that they remain deeply dedicated to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. I would advise you to be extremely careful of the associations you make with your classmates – you do want to be certain that you are befriending the right sort of people._

_Your Concerned and Loving,_

_Mother._


	15. Year 2: Chapter 4

**Chapter Four:**

To the dismay of the students, they were studying Mandrakes in Herbology. The wretched cries of the things could only be muffled so much, even with Professor Sprout's extra-fluffy earmuffs.

Calista found that she was quickly becoming an expert in replanting the things, simply because she would do _anything_ to get them to shut up. Her Herbology grade may have been benefiting, but she left every class with a splitting headache.

She wasn't the only one, either. Olivia had been excused from class early twice, complaining of feeling faint and dizzy from the cries. The second time, she put on such theatrics that Professor Sprout had gestured to Calista, who was working next to Olivia, to accompany her to the Hospital Wing.

As soon as they had removed their earmuffs and gotten beyond where anyone in the greenhouse could see them, Olivia recovered quite miraculously.

"That was easy," she said with a self-satisfied air, "Now what shall we do with our freedom for the next half-hour?"

"What if Sprout checks with Madame Pomfrey to see if you've been to the Hospital Wing?"

"She won't," Olivia assured her, "Or at least, she didn't last time. Only McGonagall bothers to follow up on that sort of thing."

"My dad would, too," Calista told her, "If he let you go at all, I mean, without losing a cauldronful of blood first."

"Lucky he's not the Herbology professor then, aren't we?" the blonde girl smirked and then gripped Calista's wrist, pulling her in the direction of the school's stables, an area of the grounds that Calista had never been to.

"Where are we going?" Calista wondered sourly, and Olivia's secretive grin made her stomach flop.

"You'll see," she said. When the stables came into view, she saw that there appeared to be a class just breaking up. Several robed figures were milling about the area, and a taller figure, presumably a professor, was headed back towards the castle.

"Olivia!" Calista hissed, "That's a professor! He'll see us out of class!"

"You worry too much, Snapelet. That's Kettleburn, he's ancient and half-blind; he couldn't spot a Hippogriff in his sitting-room."

"_Don't_," Calista warned, "call me that."

Olivia hushed her, and pulled her closer to the stables, where a few students still lingered. When they drew close, Olivia dropped Calista's hand and advanced without her. She stopped a short distance from the paddock fence that was attached to the stables, and she must have made some small noise, because a boy that had been standing there, leaning against a gate-post, turned to her.

Calista judged he was a fourth-or fifth-year, wearing green-trimmed robes. She thought she might have seen him in the Slytherin common room a few times, but couldn't really place him beyond that.

Sulking, she drew closer to the pair, wondering why Olivia had dragged her here in the middle of their class.

Olivia was laughing at something the boy had said; he looked over Olivia's shoulder as she approached.

"Who's your friend?" the boy asked Olivia.

"This is Calista," she said, beckoning the slighter, darker-headed girl forward, "My very dear friend. Calista, this is Colin. Remember I told you, he's simply _brilliant_ with animals?"

Calista could feel a denial springing to her lips; Olivia had told her no such thing, and the pleading look in her normally cold blue eyes was easy to interpret. Why should Calista lie for her, just to help her curry the favour of some boy? She wouldn't.

Calista opened her mouth, looking at the boy. All would have gone as planned, if he hadn't chosen that moment to smile.

Calista felt heat rush her face; he had a fantastic smile. How could she not have noticed when they first approached how nice he looked? He had dark hair, a bit longish and tucked haphazardly behind his ears, and his eyes were hazel-coloured and lit up when he smiled.

"Oh yeah," she heard herself saying, in a breathless, airy sort of voice that she hardly recognized as her own, "You did say."

Colin laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling just so – oh Merlin, had Calista just noticed that? Since when did she notice things like that? And about _boys_, no less?

"Colin Greengrass," he clarified for her, "It's a pleasure, I'm sure."

"Oh yeah," Calista repeated, in the same stupid voice. Inwardly, she kicked herself. Why had she suddenly become a simpering idiot like Olivia? "Er, I mean, yes. Nice to meet you too, I guess."

"Colin's just had Care of Magical Creatures class," Olivia said sweetly, "Isn't it nice that our Herbology class gets out at just the same time?"

"What?" Olivia's simpering expression was sufficiently amusing to knock some sense back into her. She was already in this, playing along, wasn't she? She told herself that her motivation in seeing this charade through had nothing to do with Colin Greengrass and everything to do with wanting to see how much of a fool Olivia would make of herself.

"Yeah, it's fantastic," Calista agreed, now refusing to look at Colin's face again. She focused on Olivia instead. "What are we doing here, again?"

Olivia's eyes narrowed warningly, and she hurried to engage Colin again. "You said you would show us the thestrals," she went on, sparing only a pointed _play-along_ glance at Calista, "Since we missed them on the ride to the castle at the beginning of term."

"What?" Calista interrupted, taking another step closer to Olivia, "We didn't miss them, we – Ow!"

Olivia had elbowed Calista sharply, and cut in hurriedly. "She doesn't know," Olivia advised Colin, "Isn't that sweet? I'm sure you remember – you said you'd take us in to feed them."

What was Olivia playing at now? Calista didn't have long to wonder. Colin laughed again, and she could feel his hazel eyes on her, now. "I told your friend Olivia that those carriages you rode in on were drawn by thestrals," he explained, "Don't feel bad for not realising it, though. Most no one does, until they learn it in Care of Magical Creatures class. You can't see them, right? So how would you know?"

"You can't see them?" Calista's question was directed at Olivia, but Colin answered. "I can – my grandma died last year. Before that, though, I saw the gamekeeper feeding them once and it was really cool – like the food was just disappearing. I told Olivia it was why I started to have an interest in them, and she said she wanted to see them fed, too."

Calista opened her mouth again, but shut it with a scowl after another well-aimed elbow.

"Oh, yes," Olivia said, in much the same breathless voice Calista had heard herself use a few minutes ago, "Show us, please."

Colin led them into the stables, and warned them to stay back a bit. "They can be quite dangerous. The ones at Hogwarts are tamed of course, or as tamed as thestrals can be, but even so. I've barely got permission from Kettleburn to be in here studying them by myself. I reckon I'm not supposed to bring anyone with me."

Calista and Olivia watched Colin take a small something from a foul-smelling bucket in the corner of the stables; presumably a dead mouse or small bird.

Calista cocked her head when Colin fed whatever it was to the skeletal, horse-like creature. She saw it open its reptilian mouth wide, and swallow the thing – a mouse, evidently, since she saw its tail disappear down the thestral's wide throat.

"That's brilliant," Olivia said a bit too appreciatively, "It's just like you said – it just disappears."

Calista turned her head to look at Olivia, making an effort to mask her own surprise. Could Olivia really not see the thestral?

She had seen them drawing the carriages too, on their ride to the castle, and it hadn't occurred to her that some of her classmates couldn't see them. No one had commented on it; she had seen them, and she hadn't asked anyone else if they could, too.

"You can only see them if you've seen death firsthand," Colin informed them, as if he had read Calista's mind, "Once you can see them, it's – well, let's just say it's bittersweet. They're odd-looking, too. Some folk find them a bit creepy, but I like them."

"Oh," Calista said, looking back at the very real and solid-looking thestral. "Oh, that's… er, interesting. Olivia, we have to get to Charms class now."

This earned her another sharp elbow from Olivia – Calista vowed to get her back for what were sure to be bruised ribs – but they left the stables at any rate.

"Thank you so much for showing us," Olivia simpered on the way out, "It was really amazing, Colin."

Colin chuckled, and reached into the bucket for another dead mouse. "I'm sure. Have fun in Charms class, then."

When the girls were outside and several paces from the stables, Olivia grabbed Calista's elbow and hissed.

"Honestly, you are impossibly awkward sometimes! Did you have to mention Charms class? We've got a good twenty minutes to get there, still!"

"And we're at least a fifteen minute walk from the classroom," Calista retorted, "Besides, I thought I was your 'dear friend' all of a sudden?"

Olivia glared, but then smoothed her features into a tight smile. "You are a dear friend of mine, of course. That's why I brought you with me today."

"Huh!" Calista challenged, wrenching her elbow from Olivia's grip, "Our 'friendship' is news to you as much as it is to me. What do you want from me now, anyway? Doing poorly in Potions again, are you? Or is it Herbology this time? Because you'd probably do better if you actually stayed the class, you know."

"Oh, hush, Calista, you're one to talk. At least I haven't ditched an entire session of r—of Transfiguration. And anyhow, what makes you think I want anything from you? It just so happens that I regret that we quarrelled so much last year. I thought you might enjoy coming with me to see the thestrals – but I guess I was mistaken."

"So you did see the thestrals, then?"

"Oh, you know what I meant! And anyway, it wasn't the _thestrals_ I was really interested in, was it?"

"You really couldn't see them?" Calista pressed.

"No, of course not," Olivia replied, "Could you?"

Calista glanced at Olivia. She looked curious, rather than vindictive. What if Olivia was telling the truth? What if she really did want to be friends with Calista again, after all? She _had_ been fairly kind to her since the beginning of term, and it was wearing her out having to be on guard for Olivia's next attack.

"Yes, I can see them," Calista decided to tell her, "I've been able to all along, even when they were pulling the carriages."

Olivia looked surprised; after that, there must have been a trick of the light, because Calista thought for a second that she had seen an eerie sort of smile on her face. When she looked back, she was sure she had imagined it.

"I'm so sorry," Olivia said, sounding as close to sincere as Calista thought she could, "I had no idea, or I would have warned you what we were going to do."

"It's all right," Calista said, "They don't bother me or anything, really. I don't think they look so bad."

"What are they like?" Olivia asked, and Calista described the thestrals to her, until they arrived at the Charms classroom just a moment before the start-of-class signal sounded.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Calista met her father in the Entrance Hall on Saturday with her cloak on. As they descended the front stair of the castle, a chill breeze swept around and between them, carrying ragged, brown leaves in its wake.

Severus fastened his cloak wordlessly, and Calista tipped her face up, inhaling deeply. The cold made her nose sting.

"It smells like snow," she said, "I wonder if we'll get any soon."

"Soon enough, I'm sure," her father replied dryly, "You'll tire of it as soon as it settles."

"I like it."

"You said that last November, too – in fact, if I recall, you said that up until the first time you had to walk to and from the greenhouses in it."

They walked in companionable silence for a few more minutes, the wind picking up and rushing past their ears. Calista could almost feel the tips of her ears and nose turning red, and began to wish she'd thought to wear her scarf.

"So, I want to try something different with you," Severus said presently, "I think you may be ready for something a bit more advanced."

Calista felt a surge of pride, but then second-guessed it. "But I still can't really keep you out," she reminded him.

"Of course you can't, you're twelve years of age," he pointed out reasonably. "We will keep practising that, but it's going to take years of it before you reach that level. For now, I want you to try focusing on creating convincing distractions and misleading images in your mind."

Calista pushed forward the same image of her cat as before, with the bubble of sadness around it, and then the anxiety over homework.

Severus flicked through these prepared images, and then approached the next set of her barriers warningly.

Hurriedly, Calista cast about in her thoughts for something else to stuff between her fist and second barriers. She assembled a vague sort of disdain and attached it to the word _Gryffindor_. It echoed hollowly through her mind, with not much else to attach to.

"You have something of the idea," he said, "It's more about misdirection and less about assembling bits and pieces, though. I want you to take your genuine, raw feelings about something, and attach them to something or someone slightly different." Severus glanced at Calista, and saw her scrunching her face up in confusion.

"For example – go on, try to penetrate my mind, and I'll show you what I mean."

Severus opened the very forefront of his mind almost entirely to her, leaving only a thin veil for Calista to try to pass through.

They hadn't been practising Legilimancy at all since Calista's last nightmare in which they thought Bellatrix had been close to achieving contact with her. It had definitely fallen to a lower priority when he had learned how close Bellatrix was getting to the girl again, and had seen an urgent need to work directly on strengthening Calista against outright mental attacks.

Now, however, he was fairly confident that her barriers were strong enough to withstand a similar attack on her dreams from Bellatrix; any Legilimancy where the subject wasn't in the same room with the Legilimens was, after all, extremely difficult to the point of being near-impossible.

There was, as far as Severus knew, no possible way that Bellatrix should have been able to reach Calista all the way from Azkaban; he could only assume it had something to do with the genetic link that also alerted him when she was distressed, but he hadn't found an explanation yet that satisfied him.

Calista's effort to penetrate even the thin barrier he had placed at the front of his mind was rough. He expected her to be less finessed than the last time they had practised this many months ago, but not quite so much as this. It wasn't quite as poor as her initial effort as a younger child, because the strength behind her intrusion was fair, but it was about as a stampede of giants.

_Perhaps we should return to practising Legilimancy soon, too – you won't progress far as an Occlumens without a far better grasp on it. Be that as it may, this is what I meant when I said to misdirect the source of your emotions._

Here, he showed her an image of Professor McGonagall. She could feel a deep-seated anger licking at the edges of the image, and resentment so intense that it frightened her. She caught snippets of thoughts that lashed the image, but couldn't pick one out enough to distinguish it.

The force of the hatred in her father's mind seemed as out-of-place and alarming there as an impression of doting maternal love would have seemed to her in Bellatrix's mind. She had seen him angry, had at times witnessed the hint of bitterness inside him, but never had seen such single-minded fury from him. It caused her to flinch away from the image, nearly outside the confines of his mental boundary.

The image and its associated negativity didn't disappear so much as they faded to the background of the layer of his mind that she was within; it was often like this with Legilimancy: images, feelings, snippets of thought were like drifting bits in a vast, murky fluid.

Calista sensed that this layer of her father's mind also contained tugs and pinpricks of ideas, but couldn't begin to piece them together. She wondered if her mind was as confusing as this, too; and couldn't fathom how, if it was, her father seemed at times to be able to pluck thoughts from her mind that hadn't seemed as concisely formed within her own head as he made them sound.

Severus could feel Calista struggling and floundering in the pool of thoughts he had opened to her. He concentrated on guiding together some of the elements what he wanted her to see, and showed her another image.

Professor McGonagall appeared in her mind again, and this time the feelings were harder to identify. She felt a comforting heat, like she had just had a mug of tea and was now relaxing, full-bellied and content, before a great fire. Encouraged, Calista focused on the explorative tentacle she still had in her father's outermost layer, and guided it closer to the image.

She encountered a strange sort of bubble surrounding the image; puzzled, she mentally poked at it a few more times, but then she could feel it slip away; she felt a surge of fierce protectiveness, and a dizzying jolt of warmth. It made her feel absurdly happy, and when Severus gently pushed her out of his mind and sealed the barrier again, she found that she was actually, physically smiling.

"Both of the emotional responses that you felt from me were my genuine feelings for an individual, but neither is actually linked to Professor McGonagall," he said softly, his eyes fixed on her face. She truly was a different child when she smiled like that; looking at her for a brief moment before it faded, he would never have believed if he hadn't known her so well, that she was the same prickly, defensive thing that argued and snarled her way through half of each day.

Calista's smile melted into pensive consideration. "Who were they for then?"

He studied her profile as they walked on, debating how much to say; both of their breaths were coming out in wispy puffs of steam before them. After a moment of silence, Calista tilted her face up to his, still expectant of an answer.

"You'll need an astronomical level of skill in Legilimancy before you discover the origins of the first response you saw," he said finally, "But I should think the second was obvious."

She searched his face, but he looked up at a passing shadow overhead. Above them, several thestrals wheeled in the sky, evidently getting their exercise. In the distance, Calista could make out a dark smudge of a shape that must be the gamekeeper Hagrid, watching them.

Calista tilted her face upward too, just as a thestral flew directly over her, casting its shadow on where she and her father stood. Calista blamed the accompanying gust of wind when she shivered; and then there was the heavy, settling warmth of her father's arm across her shoulders.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Two weeks later, a light blanket of snow coated the castle grounds. Calista had, remarkably, been given a break from Occlumency lessons while her father had left the castle for the day.

It wasn't really unusual, if he had to get some rarer potions ingredients than could be ordered through the school's usual channels, although Calista was a little surprised that whatever it was couldn't wait until Christmas break.

Still, she relished the free day, languishing in the Slytherin common room with Olivia, Emily, and Portia. The unexpected holiday had put her in such a good mood, in fact, that even Portia's presence wasn't really bothering her.

A table that was meant for study was occupied by a few first-years playing Exploding Snap, but most of the rest of the Slytherins were absent. Calista supposed a good deal of them were watching the Quidditch team practise. They had beaten Gryffindor soundly in the first match, but they were scheduled to play Ravenclaw next, and their Chasers were very good.

The falling snow and strong winds of the last few days had taken the edge off of Olivia's desire to watch the team practise, however; or maybe it was that she had a new object of affection to distract her from Marcus Flint.

"I've been doing Christmas shopping," Emily announced into the lazy silence, "I hope you'll all like what I've picked out."

"No more Gobstones, please," Olivia said, yawning. Portia caught her eye and grinned.

"Er, no. Something different this time, I promise." Emily blushed a little.

"I'm nearly done with mine as well," Portia said, "Have you done yours, 'Liv?"

"Oh yes, ages ago," Olivia said carelessly, "I asked Mother to order a few things on her last shopping trip. I expect they'll be in any day now." She looked at the other girls, and settled her gaze on Calista, an odd sort of hunger in her eyes.

"Did you finish your shopping yet, Calista?"

"Er, not exactly." She was taken aback at the odd look on Olivia's face, and felt herself tense, expecting trouble.

"Excellent," Olivia said, the expression shifting into one of avid delight, "Then I know exactly what you can get for me."

Calista sat up a little straighter, apprehensive. She was trying to trust Olivia, but it wasn't easy.

"In fact, you don't even have to buy it. You can make it."

"What do you want?" Calista tried and failed to keep her tone light.

"Amortentia," Olivia said, smiling tightly.

"I—what? Olivia, are you mad? I can't make that!"

"Of course you can," Olivia said, now sweetly cajoling, "I know you're the most talented brewer in our year."

"Olivia, that's a sixth-year potion!"

"It's also banned from Hogwarts," Emily added, her brown eyes wide, "If Filch caught either one of you with it, he'd –"

"Oh, _hush_, Emily. What hasn't that miserable geezer banned? Calista, look –" Olivia looked at her earnestly now, "I _really_ want it – no, I _need_ it. And you're the only one I trust enough to ask. I know you're capable of brewing it, and it would mean _so_ much to me."

"Who do you want it for?" Calista asked, and Portia and Emily were both paying very close attention now.

Olivia took in the dedicated audience she had garnered, and dropped her voice to a whisper, although it was probably already low enough not to carry.

"It's not really for _me_," she confided, "It's for – my parents. They've been quarrelling an awful lot lately, and I just want to help them reconcile."

"Well then, I definitely can't make it," Calista said, relieved, "It requires something from the person the potion's supposed to attract the drinker to. A hair, or saliva, or something."

"I can get you something," Olivia said hurriedly, "Of Mother's. _Please,_ Calista? My holidays will be just utterly ruined if Mother and Father are arguing the whole time. And you see, I won't even be using it while at Hogwarts, so it's not really against the rules."

"I…" Calista looked at Olivia's pleading face, and then at Emily and Portia, who both looked a little like they might cry at any moment.

"I'll try," she said reluctantly, "But I honestly don't know if I can do it."

Olivia's face broke into a grin, and she hugged Calista impulsively, ignoring the way Calista tensed her shoulders and set her teeth.

"Thank you so much," she said, "I knew I could count on you."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

The final weeks before Christmas break were strenuous. Calista was consulting a copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ she had borrowed from her father's classroom. She felt a twinge of guilt nearly every time she set foot in the classroom, knowing that if he had seen her take the book he would want to know why, and would almost certainly disapprove of what she was doing.

She could have told him; he would have put a stop to it, and forbidden her to make the potion, and that could have been the end of it. She wasn't sure, as she set up her cauldron inside her own sparse wardrobe in the girls' dormitory, why she _hadn't_ done this.

Olivia had procured the rarer ingredients for the potion somehow, probably from her mother; Calista ignored the vague nausea in her stomach when she pondered this, knowing on some level that it meant Olivia had planned on having Calista make the potion weeks before she'd actually asked her to do it.

It was cunning of Olivia to provide the ingredients though, because she must have realised that Calista would have drawn the line at being asked to steal ingredients from her father.

There were several botched attempts at the potion, each one of which was met with increasing frustration from both herself and her client. Still, Olivia helped her dispose of each of the six or seven failed attempts.

Olivia, Calista, and Emily had collaborated on a clever charm that kept a magical flame lit in a bedpan on the floor of Calista's wardrobe during the brewing process without burning the wood. Calista rather wished she could have written about how they had done it for Flitwick, but that would have led to some awkward questions she was sure her father would hear about in the staffroom.

Adding to Calista's stress was the increasing difficulty of her Occlumency lessons. Her father had evidently felt the need to make up for her lost lesson and had once again increased the length and intensity of her lessons.

Once again, she was leaving each lesson considerably drained; this time, not only from maintaining multi-level barriers, but also from the turmoil of having to wrench deep-seated emotions from beneath her primary barriers, and direct them towards other people and things. The whole process was exhausting, emotional, and a lot more difficult than Calista could possibly have believed.

His motivation became clear a few days before the final day of classes prior to Christmas break. He announced to Calista that they would not be spending the holidays at the castle as they had last year, but that they would be visiting friends of his.

She had asked him who they were going to visit, and he hadn't given her a direct answer; instead, he told her to meet him after her final class of the term for a final Occlumency lesson before the holidays, and said he would tell her where they were going after the lesson.

The only bright spot in the week was that Calista's transfiguring spell with the blasted pencil was finally showing signs of improvement.

Standing by her open wardrobe door and watching the simmer of her secret potion, she'd decided to try practising the spell while she waited for the correct time to add the next ingredient, or stir the cauldron, or, a few times, to clean up the whole mess and start over.

Remarkably, she'd managed the transformation a few times. Away from the soothing simmer of the cauldron, however, she found that she still had great difficulty. Still, it was a start. She resolved to try doing her Transfiguration homework in the Potions classroom when she came back from Christmas break.

She had no notion of what she would do when she was actually in the Transfiguration classroom, or sitting her exams, but she hoped fervently that she'd think of something, or overcome the ridiculous block in her mind that was preventing her from performing the spell correctly when she _wasn't_ either looking at a ruler or stirring a cauldron.

Finally, the evening before their last class, when Calista had stood hunched over her wardrobe so many times for so long that her back was aching, she smelled a delicious, tantalising aroma. It was like… like a fresh, crisp snow, and the moist, rich smell of a roomful of simmering cauldrons, and something else that she couldn't quite identify.

Her potion was a distinctive mother-of-pearl colour, and little wafts of steam came off it in predictable, lovely patterns.

"I did it!" she crowed with disbelief, and tore across the room to the door. She could hear her dorm-mates chattering from the common room beyond.

"Olivia, come here!"

A pause, and then Olivia entered the room, Portia and Emily at her heels. "Did you do it?" she asked eagerly, and Calista shushed her and beckoned them in, closing the door firmly behind them.

Without waiting to hear what Calista said, Olivia pushed past her and walked over to inspect the contents of the cauldron in the wardrobe.

"It smells fantastic," she called, "Is this right?"

"It is," Calista said, joining her over the cauldron, "At least, I'm nearly certain it is. It looks just like the text says it should. Now I just need something from your mother."

"_Nearly_ certain?" Portia asked.

Olivia turned and rummaged in her own wardrobe, and then held her hand up, index finger and thumb steepled together. From them dangled a single long, blonde hair.

"Here, use this. It was among the wrappings of the last package she sent me from home."

Calista took the hair and dropped it into the cauldron. It disappeared below the surface in a flash of pink, and then the potion returned to its pearly state.

"I need a flask," Calista said, still entranced by the potion. She had actually done it – she had brewed Amortentia. It was well beyond the level she had been working at, even during private lessons. She felt a surge of pride, followed by a flush of deep disappointment that she could not share this victory with her father.

She knew he would be immensely proud, after he got over wanting to throttle her. Olivia handed her a flask, and she poured the potion carefully into it. Only a small cauldron could fit in the wardrobe; it filled the flask with not a drop left.

Olivia corked the flask and set it down carefully; then she threw her arms around Calista.

"You're brilliant," she said, "I won't forget this."

Calista sincerely hoped she wouldn't regret what she had just done.

* * *

_The nice new pagebreaks are courtesy of whitehound. co. uk/Fanfic/Ffn_how-to. htm_


	16. Year 2: Chapter 5

**Chapter Five:**

While Calista had been being coaxed into brewing an advanced and forbidden potion in her wardrobe, Severus Snape had been busy with his own nuanced and possibly explosive task; he had been to Malfoy Manor.

As soon as he had received Lucius' politely-phrased request for himself and his daughter to join the Malfoys for Christmas celebrations, he had known that his time for considering the matter of disclosing the other half of Calista's parentage was at an end. Severus knew Lucius well enough to recognize what essentially amounted to an order, and it was certainly within his interests to remain friends with the Malfoys – in Calista's too, if he could play the situation out properly.

He had considered lying about the identity of Calista's mother, but in the end he had concluded that it was too great of a risk. What if Narcissa _did_ recognise her, or what if Calista inadvertently revealed it herself? Lucius had no ostensible reason to practise Legilimancy on the twelve-year-old daughter of his old school friend, but that didn't mean he wouldn't.

It would come down to his explanation for not telling them about Calista sooner. He had always thought it was best to keep her isolated from all of Bellatrix's acquaintances for as long as possible, but now, with Lucius' handwriting staring him in the face and essentially demanding to meet her, he was questioning his decision.

He had no objections, in fact, to Calista meeting the Malfoys themselves – the problem lay in the possibility that the Dark Lord would rise again some day. If he did so in Calista's lifetime, Severus was certain he would try to recruit her, given the talents she was developing. He might not have had any interest in her as an infant; but as a full-grown witch bred from two of his favoured Death Eaters? He would wager his wand-arm that Voldemort's interest would be much keener the second time around, if there was one.

Lucius, for his part, would probably never intentionally lead Calista to harm, but Severus knew that Lucius was a follower at heart, whatever pretensions he held. If the Dark Lord, returned to his former power, asked Lucius for information about Calista that might help him to recruit or overpower her, Lucius would capitulate – not necessarily due to a lack of concern for anyone else, but simply because his concern for himself always came first.

With these concerns weighing on him, Severus had decided to pay a visit to the Malfoys alone before Christmas. It would be easier if he told them beforehand who she was. He told himself that it was to spare Calista the range of their potential initial reactions, but if he were being honest with himself – and for once, he was trying not to be – he didn't relish the prospect of Calista sitting beside him and _elaborating_.

The less they knew about the way Bellatrix had treated her, the more protected he thought she was. It was much safer if neither of them knew the degree to which Calista – and himself, really – despised Bellatrix. She had been, after all, a particular favourite of the Dark Lord's, despite her silly stunt in claiming to have borne him a child.

So, Severus had taken a Saturday off from mentoring Calista in Occlumency, and had travelled to Malfoy Manor instead.

After he had entered through the wrought-iron gates and walked up the drive, he had been admitted by the Malfoys' wretched-looking house-elf, Narcissa at its heels.

"Ah, Severus! Do come in. It's a pleasure to see you again."

"The pleasure is all mine, I am sure." He removed his cloak and hung it on a coat-rack in the hall. Bulbous green eyes followed his move from somewhere around knee-height, prompting Narcissa to look down at the servile creature.

"We'll take tea in the library today," she said crisply to the house-elf, and it was gone as quickly as Narcissa had finished speaking. Narcissa returned her gaze to Severus, where it softened considerably.

"It really is nice to see you again; Draco has been asking after you."

Severus smiled. "He is well, then? I think he looks more like his father every time I see him."

The bronze door-handle behind Narcissa turned then, and a small, pointy-faced blond boy entered the hall as if he had been summoned.

"Severus!" Draco grinned, "Hallo! Have you brought me any sweets, then?"

"Manners, Draco," Narcissa admonished him gently, "If you want to take tea with the adults today, you must behave like one."

"Sorry, Mother," Draco muttered automatically, and then: "Hello Severus, sir. It's nice to see you again. _Have_ you got any sweets for me?"

"Not today, Draco. Haven't you had enough Chocolate Frogs to last you a lifetime by now?"

"I don't _eat_ them all," the young boy said impatiently, "But I still haven't got all the cards yet."

"What an unfortunate circumstance." He met Narcissa's gaze over the boy's head; Narcissa rolled her eyes just slightly, but set her hand on Draco's shoulder, an affectionate smile touching her lips.

"Go and fetch your father for tea, Draco," she said, "Tell him we are in the library today."

When the four of them were situated on antique armchairs in the library (Draco looking as if he were nearly drowning in his), and they had exhausted small talk, Severus met Lucius' gaze and understood that Lucius knew his visit hadn't been merely a social call.

"There is a reason I wanted to speak with you both before the holiday."

"Draco," Lucius drawled, evidently picking up on the hint within Severus' words, "You may play in your room now."

Draco scowled, having just recently reached an age where he disliked being excluded from adult company on the basis of his age; there was something in his expression that indicated he was positive he was being sent away from an imminent, child-free party. Nevertheless, he obeyed his father. He closed the library door softly, but they all heard a muffled slam from somewhere beyond a few seconds later.

Narcissa sighed. "You see, Lucius," she said, "He doesn't even like to leave us after tea. Imagine how lonely he would be if we sent him all the way to Durmstrang."

Lucius waved his hand dismissively. "He would make friends there; it's full of our sort of people. Besides, he's only eight; we've time to decide yet. But for now," and here he turned his head in Severus' direction, "You said there was something you wished to discuss, Severus?"

"Yes, in regards to my daughter, Calista. I feel there is something I need to tell you about her before you meet her, so that you are not surprised."

Lucius chuckled, "What could possibly be so… _surprising_… about a twelve-year-old girl? Aren't they more or less all the same?"

"If I once suffered under that delusion, becoming a professor has alleviated it, believe me. They each find their own trouble to become embroiled in – and in that regard, let me assure you, my daughter is no exception."

This earned a smile from Narcissa; Lucius still regarded him with a curiosity that was never completely devoid of his characteristic haughtiness.

"I know I've avoided the question of her mother in the past," Severus continued, "For reasons that will soon become clear. There is… ah, shall we say, a stigma surrounding it that might diminish my favour with Dumbledore and his ilk were it to become widely known."

"Is that so?" He seemed to have genuinely captured Lucius' interest now.

"It is," Severus said, placing a resigned gravity in his words, "You may recall that we sustained many losses from the Order shortly before the Dark Lord's untimely demise – but there was one that stuck out as particularly grave. They kidnapped and kept hostage a child they suspected might lead them to the Dark Lord's closest supporters; after the incident in Godric's Hollow, when no one could find her, we all thought she had been killed."

There was a space of silence, during which Severus watched the faces of his hosts very carefully. Lucius wore a look of interested, open curiosity, as though he were waiting to hear the punch line of a joke. Narcissa looked pensive, and then troubled; and then, a blossom of something else unfurled behind her eyes.

"Surely you don't mean Bellatrix's little girl?" she breathed, hopeful, "Wasn't she… wasn't she called Calista?"

"This is preposterous," Lucius interrupted, leaning forward and regarding Severus intently. His hand absently reached over to where Narcissa's sat on the arm of her chair, and he patted it with a comforting gesture.

"Are you trying to tell us that not only have you managed to track down Bellatrix's girl, when none of us could, but that you've raised her, too? Why you, and not Narcissa, who was more likely than not her nearest blood relative after her mother?"

"Narcissa wasn't – isn't – her _nearest_ relative," Severus clarified, his own expression now as intent as Lucius' had been seconds before, "It's true that Calista is Bellatrix's daughter; but she is also _mine_."

Now Lucius and Narcissa both looked surprised. Shocked by a twelve-year-old _after_ all, Severus thought sourly.

"That is… certainly unexpected news," Lucius said finally, "Of course, we all knew that Bellatrix wasn't —ah—fully satisfied with her marriage to Rodolphus, but I, at least, assumed the child was in fact his."

"We all looked for her," Narcissa said softly, "Before the Dark Lord fell, and after. She had every Tracking spell you could name on her, and Bellatrix should have been able to find her anywhere, unless she was under a Fidelius charm. And yet, even when the charm broke, there was no sign of the girl."

"I know that; I looked for years before I found her. Bellatrix never told me she was mine," his lip curled, "But I began to suspect, given… the timing of things. I couldn't explain to myself at the time why I was still looking when all sensible parties had abandoned hope; I suppose it must have been the enchantments Bellatrix placed on her. I must have felt the pull of the traces on her because of our shared blood. When I did finally find her, three years had passed and she was living in some dunghill of a Muggle orphanage. They had her under some ridiculous false name, but I found her real records at the Ministry – Bellatrix tried to burn my name off her birth certificate, but it's still there."

Narcissa was dabbing at tear-filled blue eyes with the edge of a lace handkerchief, but Lucius eyed Severus with suspicion still.

"And how do you know," he asked softly, "That the girl you found actually was the daughter you say the Ministry has records of you and Bella producing, and not some Mudblood brat pretending to be whomever you were looking for, just to get out of the orphanage?"

Severus laughed at that. "You'll know too, when you meet her. Trust me on that, Lucius."

"Even accepting that, I fail to understand _why_ you didn't tell us when you found her. You must know how dreadfully Narcissa mourned her loss."

"A lapse in judgement which I regret," Severus said, "But I couldn't be sure – at first, anyway – who it would be safe to tell. You know Dumbledore would never trust me quite as much if he knew I had such strong ties to the Dark Lord's purported favourite, and then what use would I be if He ever does return?"

There was a terrible moment during which Severus feared Lucius wouldn't accept his explanation of the story of how he had found Calista and why he had chosen not to tell them; both were an altered version of the truth, and the notion that Dumbledore didn't know about her parentage was an outright lie; still, it made the most plausible cover.

Then a small sob escaped from Narcissa. "I can't believe that she's alive, after all this time. I wanted – we looked for her, Lucius and I – we wanted to take her to live with us, after Bella was captured. She never told any of us she really wasn't Rodolphus', and we always assumed that we were the only acceptable family she would have left outside of Azkaban."

"I have to confide in you that when I found her, she was suffering from a lack of suitable acquaintances," Severus said, "Surrounded by Muggle filth, and still traumatised from being largely neglected by the Order, I can only assume."

Here, Narcissa ducked her head, almost as if she were ashamed. "It… it might not only have been the Order," she said hesitantly, "I shouldn't say – but you must have had some idea – Bella was often wretched to that poor girl. She's my sister, and we all know she has some fantastic strengths, but I always felt awful for the way she was raising her child."

"I know of that to some extent," he said carefully, "She never had the same capacity for nurturing that you do, Narcissa."

"No," Lucius agreed with amusement, "I would not consider that motherhood would ever suit Bellatrix. Wasn't she trying to offer the girl to the Dark Lord's service before it was even out of her womb?"

"I like to think that she wasn't quite serious," Narcissa offered, "Or at least, that if she was, she changed her mind after the girl was born. I can't know for certain; I think I saw Bella's girl more than anyone else, and it was only a handful of times at best."

"I'm afraid I can't attest to have any better notion of her intents than you do. Bellatrix suffered only a brief lapse during which she enjoyed my company," Severus said dryly, "Months before Calista was born, she had apparently regained to her wits, and I my relative invisibility."

Narcissa's mouth twisted into a sad half-smile; Lucius nodded once and then rose to his feet. "Thank you for finally disclosing this to us, Severus," he said, and a less observant man than Severus might have missed the slight emphasis on his words.

"I suppose all that remains now is for us to meet her and welcome her back into her rightful family," he continued, "Which we look forward to at Christmastime. In fact, Narcissa and I insist that you both spend the entirety of the Christmas break with us. It will be good for Draco to become better acquainted with his older cousin, and I'm sure Narcissa would like to make up for lost time."

"We would be delighted," Severus said, as though he were being given a choice.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

After her final class of the fall term, Calista made her way to the dungeon corridor that housed the Potions classroom as well as her father's office and quarters. Calista paused outside the door to her father's office, and tried to push her lingering pride, and the reason for it, deep beneath several layers of barriers. It was difficult, because what she really wanted more than anything was to share her achievement with him, but of course that was out of the question.

She hoped today's lesson wouldn't be too exhausting; she wasn't sure if she could keep it successfully hidden from him if he was testing her barriers today.

Exhaling, she set a triple barrier, leaving increasing space behind each layer. Hopefully, he wouldn't delve much deeper than that. She turned the knob of his office door and entered.

"How were you classes?" Severus looked at her; for once, there wasn't a pile of papers on his desk awaiting correction. It looked rather as though he had been waiting for her.

"Oh – they were okay."

"Transfiguration?"

Calista grimaced. "I'd rather not talk about that right now."

"Very well, very well. I have something to tell you anyway, and then we'll practise once more what you've been working on this month."

"Are you finally going to tell me where we're going for Christmas?"

Severus considered her, and gestured to the seat across from his desk.

Calista sat, and Severus regarded her an instant longer before speaking.

"Do you remember any – relatives of yours from your early childhood, besides your mother?"

"What? No, not really," She was startled by the question; they weren't really going to visit Bellatrix's family, were they?

As soon as she had considered this, she discarded it; he wouldn't ask her to see any of them, she was sure of it. It must be some family member of his he was referring to, then; but Bellatrix had never really acknowledged _who_ her father was, so how could she have been expected to know any of his kin?

"Well," Severus sighed, "We've been invited to visit friends of mine for Christmas. I attended Hogwarts with them, and we've been keeping in touch. I've spoken to them about you from time to time, and they're eager to meet you. They have a son, a few years younger than you."

Calista stiffened. "You know them from school? Were they – were they friends of _hers_, too?"

"I'm not sure that Bellatrix ever had – friends, as it were," he answered carefully, "But the fact is that the majority of my acquaintances were familiar with her as well. Calista, I wouldn't ask this of you if I didn't think that you were capable of handling it."

Well. That was almost true. He didn't have much choice, anymore.

Calista thought for the space of a minute, and then said, "But you asked if I remembered any relatives, not any of my mother's friends."

"The Malfoys are friends of mine from school," he repeated, "Narcissa Malfoy is also your mother's sister, and their son Draco is your cousin."

"Her _sister_?" Calista's jaw dropped. "I'm not going."

"Let's start by establishing that you are indeed going," Severus said, and put up his hand when Calista inhaled sharply and opened her mouth to protest again. "So we can move on to reassurances that you need not fear Narcissa. She may be Bellatrix's sister, but they are not the same woman."

"Did they get on well before my mother went to Azkaban?" she challenged.

Severus considered his words carefully. "Sometimes," he finally said, "Although I can tell you that Narcissa disapproved of the way that Bellatrix was raising you."

"She… this Narcissa," Calista rolled the name around on her tongue, "She knew me? When I lived with – when I was small?"

"She saw you a handful of times. Enough to cause her to question Bellatrix's parenting ability."

Calista laughed. The sound was harsh and short, and it echoed off the stone walls. "She _questioned_ her parenting ability? There wasn't a _question_ at all."

Severus felt the familiar pushing, rolling sensation of Calista's emotions bubbling up like an overheated cauldron; felt a dim awareness of her feelings in his own mind, and sensed that she was seconds away from one of her vicious outbursts.

"Why are you angry?" he asked her quietly, and then before her rage could build, "I'm telling you that you have another adult in your life who cares for you, who wanted to help you when you were small."

"Then why _didn't_ she?" Calista challenged.

"If Narcissa is guilty of overlooking the extent of Bellatrix's cruelty, then so am I," he told her softly, rising to pace the length of the room. "You are probably correct to think that both of us acted selfishly in failing to realise how abysmal your situation was, because action for either of us would have been at great personal risk, given the political climate at the time."

He glanced at his daughter, her emotions caught between rage and despair, her face struggling to conceal the evidence of both. Yet again, he felt confronted with the fact of her youth, wondered for the hundredth time if he expected too much from her or not enough.

"You cannot possibly understand the atmosphere of the time," he told her as he continued to pace, "I hope you never can. Every word, every action – they had to be perfect, no matter which side of the war you were fighting on. It was as though the entire wizarding world was polarised, serving either the Dark Lord or Dumbledore, and if you'd earned the trust of one, then the other surely wanted your head. Meanwhile, the Ministry of Magic was killing first and asking questions later. For some, the only safe place was under the shadow of the Dark Lord's cloak – or Dumbledore's. Bellatrix was always his favourite. Only she possessed the… the utter blindness to consequence, to morality, even to herself that the Dark Lord so yearned to inscribe in all of his followers along with the Dark Mark. He saw it as loyalty; really, I think it was madness, but perhaps that was the only way one _could_ be as loyal to him as she always was."

Calista had folded her arms across her chest and was following her father's pacing with eyes wide and dark; he could no longer feel her emotions, and her face was blank. Severus had to believe that Bellatrix was sufficiently blocked from Calista's mind, because he was treading a dangerous path with his words.

"Had anyone spoken or acted against Bellatrix, it would ultimately have amounted to acting against the Dark Lord himself. At best, he was indifferent to violence; at worst, he might have gained a keen interest in her methods, curious if they would work to turn you into a lifelong follower. Still, given this, I would have acted if I had truly known. I believe that Narcissa would have, too. The question is, could we both have done more to find out? Possibly, in her case. I know I certainly could have, and the regret that I did not…"

"Dad, stop it," Calista interrupted, "I don't – It's not your fault. You couldn't have known."

"I will never cease blaming myself," he said, "But if you don't blame me, then you cannot blame Narcissa, either."

"She knew more than you did," Calista said, her inflamed emotions salved by a sudden heavy, overwhelming apathy. "Anyway, fine. I don't care. If you want me to go there for Christmas, I will."

"Good. As I said, you don't need to fear Narcissa. However, I would advise you to be cautious with her husband. He can be… rather like your friend Olivia, I think."

"Oh, an arrogant prat then," she said hollowly with false cheeriness, "Excellent."

"He differs from your friend in that he is a reasonably competent Legilimens," Severus warned sternly, "So I must impress upon you the importance of guarding your mind diligently. Don't make it obvious that's what you're doing; just don't let him get beyond your first layer of protection."

Calista's already light complexion paled further. "Are you mental? I can't block a fully-trained Legilimens!"

"I didn't say he was fully trained, I said he was reasonably competent. Very few wizards are ever actually trained, which gives you an advantage – one which I doubt you will need, since he is unlikely to have a reason to suspect you would be hiding anything. Maintaining your normal barriers is likely to be sufficient."

"What if it's not?" she persisted, "What if he can tell I'm blocking him and he tries to dig deeper?"

Severus smiled wryly. "Don't you recall I told you we would be practising today?"

"Seriously, I don't think I can –,"

She stopped speaking at his sudden prodding of her mind; automatically, the forefront of her consciousness was flooded with an eddying current of disjointed images and tendrils of emotion. The internal wall separating this part of her mind from the inner levels was like a castle glimpsed far away, and through a thick fog; it might have been there, but what place would it have as the backdrop of such a modern carnival? It was only reasonable to conclude that it wasn't there at all.

"Yes you can," Severus murmured.


	17. Year 2: Chapter 6

**Year 2, Chapter Six:**

Severus Snape glanced over his shoulder one last time before approaching the great wooden door of Malfoy Manor. Behind him, his daughter hopped from one foot to the other, her ears and the tip of her nose pink from the cold. Little puffs of steam escaped her nose and mouth.

He opened his mouth, as if to address her, but then the front door opened inward, and they were greeted by the sight of an imposing-looking blond couple – or rather, Severus was – closer to his daughter's own level was a tiny, pitiful-looking creature with big green orbs for eyes, dressed in nothing but a tea towel. He appeared ready to take the guests' cloaks, but before they had even stepped inside, he was reassigned.

"Set the table, Dobby," the man commanded coldly, releasing his hold on the elf as he stepped back to let the company inside. "Ah, Severus," he continued, in a much friendlier tone, "Please, come in. Leave your cloaks here in the foyer; the house-elf will collect them later. We'll take tea in the sitting room before supper."

While Severus removed his cloak, Calista stood idly as if she hadn't heard the man; her gaze had followed the small creature as it slipped past a heavy wooden door into another room off the main hall.

"Calista," Severus' voice snapped her back to attention, and the girl unclasped her cloak, aiming a passing glance in her father's direction. She pulled it off reluctantly, and looked up at their hosts, feeling awkward and foolish in the clothes she had on underneath her cloak.

Before travelling to the Malfoys', Severus had taken her shopping in Hogsmeade, and had surrendered her to the woman in Felicity's Formals for what felt to Calista like an eternity. When she was finally allowed to leave, she parted with four new dresses and a slew of matching accessories. She, who had never worn a dress once in her life, was expected to wear one every day they stayed with the Malfoys, for she hadn't been allowed to pack any of her old clothes. Severus had even bought her two pairs of new shoes and some horrible scratchy tights that the salesgirl had recommended.

She stood now in the Malfoys' foyer, wearing a knee-length navy dress with small white dots all over it, and itchy white tights with stiff, shiny black shoes. She had clipped part of her hair back in an imitation of the way that Olivia had once styled her hair near the beginning of term, but the result wasn't quite the same without the hair potion Olivia had used.

"We're so pleased to finally meet you, Calista" the woman said gently, and Calista regarded her warily while the introductions were made, searching her face for a resemblance to Bellatrix. She had the same cheekbones, the same nose. Her eyes were the same colour, but where Bellatrix's were icy and intense, this woman's were kinder, even if they were not exactly soft. Human, Calista supposed, was the word she was searching for.

"Hello," Calista replied, her voice softer than she intended it to sound. "Uhm, thank you for inviting us," she added, feeling that she was expected to say something more.

"Shall we, then?" Lucius Malfoy led them all into a room off the main hall, across from the one the house-elf had gone into. The furnishings in the room were sumptuous; the floor was made of stone with a huge, thick rug thrown over most of it. A huge fireplace topped with a gilded mirror took up most of one wall, flames crackling merrily from it and throwing soft shadows across the room. As Lucius settled into the largest and most comfortable-looking chair in the room, motioning Severus and Calista to sit down as well, Narcissa slipped towards another door by the fireplace.

"I'll fetch Draco," she murmured, as the house-elf appeared bearing a tray set for tea. Calista didn't care for tea, but she took a few biscuits off the tray when the house-elf came to her; she offered him a small, polite smile in return, but the creature scurried away, casting his eyes down.

"So, Calista, I understand you are in your second year at Hogwarts?" Lucius regarded her across the coffee table, teacup pauses halfway to his lips.

"Yeah," she replied, "I mean, uhm, yes." She glanced at her father, who looked calm as he sipped his own tea; of course, Calista knew he was nervous, despite appearances. She wasn't quite sure exactly what the nature of his friendship with Lucius Malfoy was, but she knew that he very much wanted both of the Malfoys to like her.

"Which subject is your favourite?" Lucius queried.

"Well, Potions is my best subject, naturally," she said, "Although I really like Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts as well."

Lucius' brow arched slightly, and Calista added, "Of course it would be nice if Professor Foran would teach us some of the offensive spells as well. I mean, of course I have my father to teach me, but I think everyone at Hogwarts should learn them, too."

Lucius smiled thinly, just as Narcissa re-entered the room with a young blond boy in tow.

"Well said," and here he looked up at Narcissa, "Calista tells me nothing has changed since our own days at Hogwarts. They're still wasting time with-" and here he sneered, "_Defence_ classes instead of teaching proper Dark magic."

"I can't say I'm surprised," Narcissa replied, leading Draco across the room to where Calista sat, "What a dreadful shame that fool Dumbledore didn't give the post to Severus – I'm certain he'd make sure the right things were being taught. Draco," she transitioned, "This is your cousin, Calista. Calista, meet our son, Draco."

"Hello," Calista greeted the younger boy, who stood before her chair rather imperiously, studying her.

"Say hello to Calista and then sit down for tea, darling," Narcissa said as she settled into her own chair, "supper will be served soon."

"Do you collect Chocolate Frog cards?" Draco asked his older cousin without preamble, "I have all the best ones already."

"Er, no, not really," Calista answered.

"Oh. Well, you should," Draco said, and then he sat down beside her chair on the rug. Lucius opened his mouth, perhaps to remind Draco that tea time was customarily observed while seated on actual furniture, but Narcissa shot her husband a look and smiled slightly "Let them get acquainted," she murmured, and Lucius closed his mouth, sparing only a disapproving glance at his son before shifting his attention to Severus.

"How do you find Calista responding to the curriculum at Hogwarts?" he asked, "Aside from the nonsense about not teaching the Dark Arts, is it challenging enough? Draco has been demonstrating his magical ability left and right these days, and I'm worried he won't find enough of a challenge at such a soft school."

"Ah," Severus replied, glancing in his daughter's direction, "Well, Calista is quite advanced for her year, but several of my colleagues give her extra assignments and allow her to explore additional topics beyond those covered in class. I myself am always happy to offer additional assignments to students who desire it; in fact, on Calista's exams last year, she was rated as performing at a fourth-year level in Potions."

Calista was glad that he hadn't mentioned to the Malfoys that she had scored below par in Transfiguration, but she had to bite her lip to keep from boasting about the Amortentia potion she had brewed in her wardrobe. It was a feat nearly as impressive as it was against the rules.

"I have five _Salazar Slytherins_," Draco confided to his cousin, holding up five fingers in her direction, "He's my favourite, because I am going to be in Slytherin house like Father was."

"I'm in Slytherin, too," Calista told him, nibbling on a biscuit, "It's my second year."

Draco cocked his head, interest spreading across his pointy face. "Do you know any curses you can show me?"

Before Calista could answer, a slight tap on the door of the room caused Lucius to rise. "I believe supper is ready," he said, offering his arm to Narcissa. Severus and Calista followed, Draco scampering ahead to claim his favourite chair.

The dining room was every bit as large and impressive as the drawing room. It was dominated by a huge, beautifully polished dark wood dining table, which was set for five, though twelve would have fit comfortably.

Lucius' eyes swept over the expansive table, and with a flourish of his wand, it retracted until it was half as long as it had been, bringing the place setting at the foot of the table close to the rest. After he had done this, Lucius sat down at the head of the table, and Narcissa at the foot. Lucius indicated for Severus to sit at his right. Draco stood behind the chair that was closest to his mother, across from the only remaining empty place setting, his small fists wrapped around the chair back. As soon as his parents were seated, Draco climbed into his chair, leaving only one set place for Calista - between Lucius and Draco, and across from her father.

The food, though there was enough of it to feed all of Slytherin house, and though it was rich and delicious, was mostly lost on Calista, who could have been eating nothing but porridge for supper for all the attention she was giving it.

They hadn't even gotten halfway through supper when Lucius brought Bellatrix up.

"I'm curious, Severus, to know which spells Bellatrix placed on Calista."

There was a fraction of a moment, just long enough to be slightly uncomfortable; Calista felt Lucius' eyes on her, and concentrated on keeping the forefront of her mind clear, her boundaries strong.

"What other Chocolate Frog cards have you got, Draco?" Calista whispered to Draco, and as he began rattling them off, she was suddenly very enamoured of her newfound younger cousin - the banality of his card collection was the perfect thing to focus on to keep her mind calm, and he was more than willing to keep listing them to a captive audience.

"The protection spells, the tracking spells... do you know which ones she used?"

Severus' voice was low, silky; his response measured, as though he were considering the question for the first time. "Well, I believe she managed to tap into Calista's Trace somehow and modify it. It's powerful magic, attached automatically to every witch and wizard at birth - it seems logical to me to use it as a starting place. Beyond that, I can only guess. A Proximity Charm, certainly, that notified her when Calista was a certain distance away."

Lucius waved his hand dismissively. "Of course. But surely there were more? Bellatrix always struck me as someone who took the proper precautions with her...property."

Calista's neck tensed, and she felt a rush of anger pushing at her mental barriers from within.

"What about... what about Merwyn the Malicious, Draco? How many of him do you have?" she whispered,

"People are not as easily protected as objects," Severus said lightly, "I'm sure you know that as well as I do."

"I have two," Draco said quietly, "I had three, but I traded one away to my friend Vincent for another Salazar."

"You could argue that point, Severus, but don't forget that one cannot cast blood magic on an object."

"Vincent is always making foolish trades," Draco continued conspiratorially, as he speared a piece of broccoli on his fork and shoved it in his mouth, "I'm just glad it's often with me. Once -"

Narcissa laid her own fork down and looked at her son. "Draco," she admonished quietly, "You musn't speak with your mouth full."

Calista could feel the wild roiling of fear, of anger beneath the surface layer of her mind, and she focused all of her willpower and pushing it further down, further inside. Unconsciously, she let her own fork drop beside her plate, and clasped her hands together on her lap under the table.

" - effects of blood magic in conjunction with an opposing Fidelius Charm have not been studied. Short of asking Bellatrix directly, we may never know all of the spells she attached to Calista."

"A pity we cannot ask her," Lucius said, motioning for his plate to be cleared away, "I'd hoped to learn of some morbidly fascinating twist on tracking spells - you'll recall our Bella was nothing if not... _creative... _in her methods."

Dobby appeared at Lucius' elbow and began clearing the main course from the table, just as Draco swallowed his broccoli.

"Once, I convinced Vincent to give me Morgan le Fay and Rowena Ravenclaw for Albus Dumbledore. Everyone knows it's the most common card, and a dull one besides. I told him the one I had was a limited edition, if you looked at it exactly at midnight, a giant would appear in his portrait and rip his head off." Draco sniggered, clearly proud of himself.

Lucius shifted his gaze to Calista, to see the girl staring passively at her plate, her hands hidden below the table. Draco was looking at her expectantly.

She felt his gaze immediately, and latched onto the last thing Draco had said; anything to keep from responding to Lucius' insinuations about blood magic.

"Your friend Vincent sounds daft," she muttered, just as Lucius addressed her.

"Calista." She couldn't ignore him openly; she lifted her gaze to his.

"Is something wrong?" His tone was light, but the sudden pressure against Calista's mind was not. Nor was it finessed; she felt him swipe through the first layer of her mind as casually and thoughtlessly as he might swipe an orange from a bowl of fruit.

She didn't break eye contact. "No," she managed, surprised that her voice sounded steady, nonchalant. "I think I'm full, is all."

Her skin crawled, and internal alarms went off as she felt him sift through the conversation she'd been having with Draco about Chocolate Frog cards; her uncomfortable experience shopping in Hogsmeade for dresses the week prior; the last detention she had served, for threatening to curse Oliver Wood within earshot of Professor Sinistra from Astronomy.

"That's a pity, indeed," Lucius drawled casually, "Are you certain you haven't saved room for dessert?"

"I'm... I'm certain. Thanks."

"Perhaps another night," As their exchange ended, it felt natural for Calista to let her gaze fall away from his, and as soon as she did, she felt their connection sever abruptly, though she hadn't forced him out, and she hadn't felt him deliberately withdraw.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Narcissa showed Calista to a tastefully decorated room on the second level. It contained a large bed, double the size of Calista's own in the Slytherin dormitories, and a huge armoire. There was a thick, soft rug next to the bed and a set of heavy brocade curtains on the window. There was even a sitting area, with two armchairs and a tiny side table, and the light in the room came from a great overhead candelabra, which Narcissa lit by flicking her wand upwards absently as they entered the room.

Narcissa perched delicately on the edge of the large bed, bringing herself more or less at eye level with her niece, and used the opportunity to search the child's face much as Calista had surveyed her when they arrived - looking, undoubtedly, for the same thing - a resemblance to Bellatrix.

"You have the Black family profile to be sure - the cheekbones, the chin, high forehead," Narcissa tilted her head slightly, "You have your father's nose, though."

"I don't think I look very much like her at all," Calista disagreed quickly.

"Oh, you do," Narcissa replied, with a slight lift of her shoulder, "But children never wish to be told they resemble their parents." Narcissa half-smiled, and rose to her full height, placing her hand on the side of Calista's neck, in a gesture that was somewhere between cupping her cheek and patting her shoulder. It should have been awkward, but somehow she made it seem elegant and gracious, and Calista found that she could stand the touch without flinching away.

"The old families are growing sparse, my dear. We must keep each other close, yes?"

"Yes, Mrs. Malfoy," Calista managed, unsure.

"Please, call me Aunt," Narcissa said softly, as she exited the room, pulling the door gently closed behind her. "I'll let your father know where your room is, in case you wish to bid him good night."

As soon as Narcissa had left the room, Calista kicked off her new shoes and yanked the tights off her legs. She had a good minute or two of simply scratching her newly bare legs, as if her fingernails could scrub away the discomfort of the last several hours. When that was done, and her skinny calves were crossed with faint white marks from all the scratching, she pulled the new navy dress off over her head tossed it over the back of one of the armchairs. When she opened the armoire, she saw that someone had already put her clothing away, and she reached hungrily for her most worn and comfortable nightdress, pulling it on and hugging it around herself before flopping down onto the oversized bed. Without rising again, she reached her hands up and yanked the clip out of her hair, letting it fall onto the night table as if it were a much heavier burden.

Calista lay in the bed, looking absently up at the ceiling, while she deconstructed that evening's supper conversation in her mind.

Even though her father had warned her that Lucius might try to invade her thoughts, it had still unsettled her a great deal. There was something alien and somehow barbaric about his presence in her mind, not at all like her father's during their lessons. This had been more primitive, and somehow, even though she had not let him see beyond her outermost layer, more invasive.

She supposed it was rather like the difference between going through a photo album with someone else, and having that someone else stroll into your bedroom in the middle of the night and steal the photos from it. At any rate, it was obvious to Calista that Lucius hadn't bothered to try to hide his presence in her mind at all - and she wasn't sure what that meant. Was he trying to intimidate her by making certain that she knew he was using Legilimency on her?

She wanted, badly, to speak to her father about it, but she wasn't sure if it was safe to do so while they were still under the Malfoys' roof. Even asking him through legilimency, mind-to-mind, felt like a risk, since she really only knew how to communicate with her father mind-to-mind using the outermost layer of thought - the same one Lucius had already pilfered through once.

One thing was for certain: she was fiercely glad for all of her lessons on filling the mental layers between barriers with convincing content. Even though Lucius' invasion had surprised her, she had felt more or less prepared for it, which surprised her perhaps more than it should have.

After she had run through these things in her mind for perhaps an hour, she heard a soft knock on the door, and she sat up, pushing her loose hair behind her ears just as her father's voice followed his knock through the closed door: "Are you still awake?"

Calista was relieved to hear his voice - instantly, she was able to push her worries about Lucius Malfoy somewhere further away in her mind. She rolled her eyes good-naturedly and crossed the room to the door, pulling it open. "I know you can see the light underneath the door," she said, by way of greeting, "Of course I'm still awake."

"Ah," Severus said, as he followed Calista into the room. While she settled herself on the edge of the bed again, legs curled up underneath the hem of her nightdress, Severus dropped into the armchair that wasn't draped with Calista's new outfit. "And you were so delightful all day. To think, I almost feared you'd been replaced with another, more civilised child."

"Those stupid tights are as civilised as you're getting out of me today," she said as she cast an accusing look at the corner of the room where she had carelessly thrown them.

"The woman in the store liked them on you - what did she say, exactly? That you were 'simply darling', I believe?"

Calista levelled a glare at him, half-teasing and half-resentful. "I'm regretting once more my decision not to hex her when she said it."

"A decision that was based on civility," he said, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly.

"No," Calista said, "It was based on my distaste for sorting flobberworms in your office."

"Same difference, when you get right down to it," Severus allowed his mouth to twitch into a smile, for the briefest of moments. When it had flitted away, his eyes found his daughter's and held them.

_I'm proud of you tonight._

The words slipped into the outermost layer of her mind, and she smiled tiredly. "Thanks."

"Sleep well, Calista," Severus said softly, after a moment of companionable quiet passed between them.

"Good night." Calista's narrow face was split by a wide yawn. Severus stood to leave and, approaching the door, pulled it nearly closed behind him, then paused, catching sight of Calista's wand poking out from the pocket of her new dress as it hung over the back of the armchair. He aimed his own wand up at the candelabra, and as he tilted it away, the flames faded away, leaving the room in darkness.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Christmas at Malfoy Manor was unlike anything Calista had ever seen before. On Christmas Eve, thousands of witchfire lights and a huge Christmas tree had appeared, most likely by magic.

On Christmas Day, Draco had been opening gifts until well into the afternoon. There were packages upon brightly coloured packages of toys, sweets, clothing, books, and even a brand-new broomstick. He had also received a KidKauldron Beginner's Potions Kit (from Severus, of course) that contained a small cauldron, a wooden spoon, several plastic phials and flasks, a measuring cup, and packets of inert ingredients that were advertised to be "very unlikely to burn your house down or turn your child into a toad".

Calista, for her part, received an impressive spread of gifs herself. Severus had given her an expanding bookshelf, which folded into a small wooden box that would fit neatly underneath her bed, until the correct password was spoken to open it up into a full-sized bookcase. There were several new books to add to her collection as well, and a set of new quills.

The Malfoys had given her things as well. There was a new comforter set for her bed, patterned with a night sky full of stars that actually changed colors and flickered convincingly, and an assortment of sweets.

There was also a tiny, gold-coloured box that Narcissa handed to her after she had taken several pictures of Draco with his new broomstick. Calista pulled the ribbon off and opened the box to reveal a beautiful gold pendant with a calligraphic '_C'_ engraved in it. Speechless, she stared at it, until Narcissa took the box gently from her hands and lifted the pendant out of it. It was on a delicate gold chain, which Narcissa reached to fasten around Calista's neck.

"It's a locket," Narcissa said, demonstrating how it opened. "You can put pictures inside."

"It... It's very lovely," Calista stammered, shocked to have received such an expensive gift. "Th-Thank you."

Narcissa looked as if she were about to say something else, but then Draco crashed his new broomstick into the Christmas tree and she leapt up to make sure he hadn't hurt himself.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

The day before they were to return to Hogwarts, Calista was in Draco's room, helping him set up his new KidKauldron. He cleared off the surface of the mahogany desk in his room, placed the KIdKauldron's heating unit on the desk. It was a bit like a hotplate, except that it would only conduct heat through the cauldron, and felt cool to the touch everywhere else.

"We should rinse the cauldron out before we use it," Calista said, as her cousin started pulling the ingredients packets out of the box. "Just in case they used something to clean it that could react with your potion and ruin it."

They carried the cauldron into Draco's washroom, and Calista rinsed it out while Draco hovered behind her.

"'What kind of potion are we going to make?" Draco asked once they were back in his room.

Calista surveyed the labels on the ingredients in their brown paper packets.

"We can make... let's see... A Bubble Breath potion. It does exactly what it sounds like. Or we could make a potion you can drip onto your vegetables to make them taste like chocolate, or one that will turn your hair green for a few hours."

Draco cocked his head "Is that all?"

Calista laughed, and pointed to the box. "There's not much you can make with ingredients that are 'very unlikeley to burn your house down' no matter how you use them."

"Do the vegetables really taste like chocolate?"

"They do, but it doesn't change the texture. A chocolate carrot is okay, but imagine chocolate broccoli, or chocolate sprouts. Honestly, it's kind of weird."

"The Bubble Breath one then," Draco said, and Calista separated out the ingredients they would need for it.

"Okay, Draco," Calista said, "First you need to take four of those dragonfly wings, and crush them into a fine dust."

They continued in this vein, with Calista instructing, and helping Draco here and there with the preparation. The little hotplate that came with the cauldon wasn't nearly as effective as an actual flame, but a Bubble Breath potion didn't really take too much finesse; the ingredients just had to stew together in reasonably warm milk until little light-blue bubbles started rising out of it. When it was finished, Calista poured it into a flask, and made Draco wait until it was cooled to drink it.

As promised, the potion allowed Draco to blow bubbles from his mouth simply by exhaling, and he had a marvelous time blowing them out and then trying to catch them.

"How long does this last?"

"An hour or so," Calista said, poking one of his bubbles with her finger as it floated by her and popping it.

"Can we make it again?"

"I have to start packing my things to go back to school soon. Tell you what, I'll write the instructions down so you can make it yourself anytime you want to, okay?"

"Brilliant," Draco said, and puffed out another school of pearlescent blue bubbles.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Calista went through the guest room, making sure she had remembered to put all of her things into her trunk. She considered leaving her stupid new dresses behind, but she was sure Narcissa would just send them to her anyway, so she reluctantly threw them into the bottom of her trunk, piling all of her new gifts on top of them.

During their stay, Bellatrix had come up four more times in conversation, and Lucius had tried to read her mind twice more. Each time, Calista bristled inwardly at the intrusion but kept calm on the surface. She wasn't sure exactly what he wanted to find, but whenever one of them broke eye contact, his presence disappeared from her mind instantaneously. She couldn't wait until the got home so she could feel safe discussing it with her father. She was reasonably sure that Lucius hadn't gotten anything important from her, but she'd feel much better once she could get her father's opinion too.

Overall, she was relieved to be going back to Hogwarts, Remedial Transfiguration or no, but she thought she might actually miss having Draco around. He was a bit spoilt, to be sure, but he wasn't bad company, for an eight-year-old. She had really enjoyed teaching him to brew simple potions with his new kit, and all his questions about Hogwarts and about which curses she knew made her feel looked up to, a bit like she thought Kimberly and the other sixth-years must feel about her.

One thing was for sure, she thought, as she left the guest room for the final time, trunk in tow. She was _never_ going to wear any of these ridiculous tights again.


	18. Year 2: Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

The night before classes resumed, Calista was in Severus' office, helping him replenish and refill some of his supplies from the additional stores he kept in the workroom beneath his quarters.

"So, " Severus began, unscrewing the top to a jar of pickled newts' eggs, "How are you doing, after this past week?"

"I'm... okay, I think. I mean, it was kind of strange, but... Draco and Aunt Narcissa are nice, I guess."

She fiddled with the gold locket around her neck, twisting it around her finger, as she watched her father for a minute.

"But?" Severus recovered the newts' eggs and reached for another jar.

"I don't like Lucius. Every time he was talking to me about _her_, he was trying to read my thoughts."

Severus paused, hands stilling for a moment. "How many times?"

"Three."

Severus exhaled, and reached for another jar; to nearly anyone he would seem nonchalant, but Calista knew him well enough to recognize his careful, deliberate movements. He waited for her to elaborate.

"It was really strange, though. He only got through when he was looking right at me, and if I looked away, it was like he... just disappeared. He didn't withdraw, I didn't feel that, but I didn't force him out, either. He was just... gone."

She picked up a half-empty jar of powdered Asphodel root, and carefully refilled it from a larger jar. Severus remained quiet.

"He was also... he wasn't subtle about trying to read my thoughts. It was really obvious to me what he was doing. I could feel him just sort of grabbing at the things that were in the front of my mind."

"You must have been angry with him," Severus prompted carefully.

"Oh, I was fuming," she admitted, "Even before he entered my mind. I hated the way he kept talking about her. I had to really concentrate on keeping it hidden behind all the other stuff."

"But you did?" Severus' hands paused as he looked directly at his daughter.

"Yes," she glanced up, but his eyes were unreadable as ever.

Severus nodded, and began working again. He waited a spell to speak, until he could trust himself to moderate his voice. "Why do you think Lucius' intrusions felt the way they did?"

"I thought maybe he was trying to intimidate me, sort of saying he was going through my thoughts without trying to hide it because he could."

Severus turned away from her, under pretense of checking the shelves to be sure all of the jars were now properly stocked, then leaned against the edge of his desk, facing Calista only when he knew he had full control of his emotions. "And yet, after making such a show of arrogance, he didn't attempt to breach any of your other barriers?" he asked silkily.

"Well, no," Calista said, wrinkling her nose in thought. "I don't know that he even realized they were there."

"And why do you think his connection severed when you broke eye contact?"

"I'm not sure. It seemed strange."

"Think carefully," he said, "I'll even let you off your Occlumency lessons this week if you answer correctly."

Calista bit her lip, considering everything he had taught her about Occlumency and Legilimency.

"He wasn't using a wand, so that would weaken him..." she mused, looking at Severus for confirmation.

He remained impassive. "Go on," was all he said.

"Only a couple of things make sense," she said, twirling the locket around her finger again, "I don't think he could hide himself so well that I wouldn't sense him, because he was really obvious at first. So... I guess the only thing, since I didn't feel him withdrawing, is that he couldn't keep the connection without eye contact."

"And based on that assumption, why do you think his presence was so brazenly obvious?"

She set her eyes on the floor, thinking hard, still twirling the necklace chain around her index finger. "I... I guess he didn't think I could tell he was there... which would mean he didn't think I was hiding anything in other layers..."

"Which means?" Severus prompted.

"Which means..." she tilted her head up to meet his gaze. "Which means, he doesn't think I know anything about Occlumency."

"Ah, " Severus said, forcing a small smile, "Then it means I was correct, when I told you that you could handle him."

"Only because he didn't know I was hiding anything," Calista said, releasing the necklace from her fingers.

"Yes. That is correct. You kept your mind safe because you kept a Legilimens from realising that you had anything to hide. Which, coincidentally, is the entire point of Occlumency."

Calista smiled impishly then. "I guess that makes me a prodigy, huh?"

"Well, we knew that already," Severus' half-smile was genuine, though his eyes were still hooded. "You should get some sleep before term starts again tomorrow."

"So I'm off the for hook Saturday, then?"

"I think you've earned a break. This week _only_ though. And you must tell me immediately if -"

"I know, Dad. I will, I promise. I don't want... _that_... her... anymore than you do."

Severus nodded, and opened the office door for her. "Good night, then."

"'Night."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Professor McGonagall put her fingers to her temples as she looked down at Calista's latest attempt to transfigure a pencil into a ruler. This time, it actually did look more or less like a ruler, but it still had a rubber on the end.

"Perhaps this spell just isn't your forte," she said, trying unsuccessfully to keep exasperation out of her voice. "Let's just call this one a wash and move on to something else - the snuffbox, from the exams last year. Here,"

She reached into a small cage behind her desk and placed a white mouse on the table in front of Calista. The mouse squeaked in terror and scrabbled for the edge of the table. Without thinking, Calista aimed her wand and cast a Freezing Charm, stopping the mouse in its tracks.

"See what you can accomplish here. I'm going to check in with Mr. Flint."

Calista shot a look across the classroom at Marcus. He was already on second-year spells; at this rate, he would catch up to his third year peers, and leave Calista as the only student left in Remedial Transfiguration.

Frowning, she waved her wand at the mouse, muttering the incantation. The mouse was replaced with a silver snuffbox - sort of. Just like it had during her end-of-year exams, her snuffbox had whiskers and a tail. Even worse, this one still had a little pink nose that wiggled tauntingly at Calista.

After yet another fruitless hour, Calista was in a rush to put the Transfiguration classroom far behind her. She was halfway down the corridor when Marcus caught up with her, grabbing her elbow. Calista started slightly, covering it with irritation.

"What d'you want?"

"Check it out," Marcus said, holding out a handful of shiny black buttons, "I can't believe these used to be beetles."

Now Calista's feigned irritation turned genuine. "Good for you," she snarled, "Did you chase me all the way down the hall so you could gloat?"

Marcus' brow furrowed in confusion. "N-no, of course not. I'm just really happy I got it is all. And I followed you because I thought you wanted to study together."

She glanced down to the buttons in his fist, then back up at his face, tamping down her foul mood. "Yeah, okay," she said, exhaling. "Let's go to the library. It's never quiet in the common room lately."

"I just need to grab my Potions stuff," Marcus said. "Meet you there?"

Calista nodded, and they parted ways, her changing course to head for the library. When she entered, the library was silent and empty, save for the ubiquitous Madam Pince, who looked exceedingly disappointed to have anyone actually using the library.

She selected a table near the back of the library, and tossed her Transfiguration book onto it as she sat down. A few minutes later, Marcus rejoined her, thumping his Potions book down onto the table, and earning him a glare from Madam Pince.

"We can work on your Potions stuff first," Calista offered, rubbing her eyes, "I don't know if I can handle any more Transfiguration right this minute."

Marcus flipped open his textbook. "Thanks," he said, sounding relieved, "My dad found out over Christmas break that I'm in danger of being pulled from the Quidditch team if my grades don't pick up, and..." he shook his head, "Dad wants me to play professionally. It wasn't pretty."

Calista looked over at him curiously. "Don't you want to play?"

"Well, yeah, of course," he answered, "I just hate fighting with my dad, y'know?"

"Yeah," she agreed, thinking of her own father. "I know what you mean. Okay, so... what are you having trouble with?"

Marcus laughed ruefully. "Everything. We were doing Shrinking Solutions before the break, and mine turned orange and burned holes through my cauldron."

Calista winced. "That sounds vaguely poisonous, among other things." She reached over his arm to flip the pages in the textbook to the recipe for Shrinking Solution, and ran her finger down the list. "So, it sounds like you used too many rat spleens, or too much leech juice. How much did you use?"

Marcus scratched his head, looking over the page. "I know I only used one rat spleen. I was going to add a second one, just in case, you know? And Professor Snape -" he paused, and his cheeks flushed "Er, sorry, I mean your dad-"

Calista shook her head. "It's fine, you can call him Professor to me. Mostly everyone does anyway."

"Right. So... so I know I didn't put an extra rat spleen in, because I was about to, and Professor Snape was so peeved I thought for sure he was about to hex me for it. Sorry," he added again.

Calista snorted. "Believe me, I know exactly what you mean. The extra rat spleen makes it poisonous though... even the fumes can make you ill. That's sort of why potions have instructions, you know."

"Yeah," Marcus said sheepishly, "I know that now. So... so that means it was the leech juice, then?"

"How much did you add?"

"I dunno, a dash I guess, like it says."

"So, how much is a dash, then?" Calista challenged.

"Er," Marcus said, his cheeks flushing again. "You know, a dash. Like... like this," and he mimed unscrewing a bottle and shaking it upside down several times. "Dash, dash, dash," he explained.

"Oh boy," Calista couldn't help but put her hand to her forehead. "That's... no. A dash is a tiny bit. _Tiny_. And you should never just pour it out of the bottle."

"But," Marcus said, repeating the gesture."Dash," he said, as he shook the imaginary bottle once. "Dash, dash." he shook it twice more.

"Are you having me on?"

Marcus replied, but Calista didn't hear what he said, because someone else had just walked into the library. A tall, handsome, dark-haired someone in Slytherin robes, and he looked right at Calista and smiled, dazzlingly.

He started walking towards their table, and Calista felt her face grow hot. The wide, bright smile never left his face.

"Clarissa, right?" he said, as he drew close.

"Calista," she said, pushing her hair behind her ears, "Uhm... h-hi, Colin."

"You're Olivia's friend. I remember. I'm looking for Olivia. Would you happen to know where she is?" He sounded strange, maybe a little out of breath. Had he been running?

"Oh," Calista said, flatly, "No, I haven't seen her in hours. Try the common room."

"RIght," Colin said, his smile growing even brighter. "Of course. The common room. That's brilliant. I'll go now. Thank you, Clarissa."

"Calista," she corrected again, but he was already halfway across the room.

"That was weird," Marcus said, and Calista started. She had forgotten she was sitting next to him.

"Huh? Oh, it's just... I only met him once before. I guess that's why he didn't remember my name."

"He's a Reserve Chaser, you know. I've talked to him a couple of times at practice, and he's never been that weird before."

"I just... uhm. You know what? I think I - I have to go. Can we... can we finish this another time?"

A look of disappointment flitted across Marcus' face. "Oh. Sure, I guess so. We didn't get to Transfiguration yet, though."

"Another time," Calista said, rushing past him.

"NO RUNNING IN THE LIBRARY!" Madam Pince shrieked, but Calista ignored her and kept going.

Dumbfounded, Marcus looked down at the table, wondering what exactly had just happened. He realized with a jolt that Calista had left her Transfiguration book, and he gathered it up with his own things and left the library.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Days after he and Calista had returned from Malfoy Manor, Severus was still in a foul mood. He had managed, with great effort, to keep it from Calista, but he was positively fuming with Lucius Malfoy.

He had half-expected his school friend to try to read Calista, but being prepared didn't make him any less angry.

_Three bloody times_, he thought, for the umpteenth time, as he paced through his Potions classroom during the first-year Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw class.

"This is atrocious," he snarled at a Ravenclaw boy whose potion had turned into a thick, sickly green goo, "I stated very clearly that _four_ horned slugs would suffice. Start over."

And what could he do about it? Precious little, since he couldn't very well reveal to Lucius that Calista could detect and counter Legilimency without raising too many questions he did not want to answer yet.

_Twelve. She's twelve years old, you prick._ He was running out of names to call Lucius in his head.

And why had he felt the need to search her thoughts so many times? Did he distrust Severus suddenly? Or was it just the old Malfoy sense of entitlement that made him 'forget' how deplorable it would be to invade a child's mind?

The bell rang, signalling the end of class, before Severus had assigned any homework. The students practically stampeded to be out of the classroom before he corrected the oversight.

When the classroom was empty, he retreated into his office. He was meant to have office hours after this class, but he magically locked the door behind him anyway.

The worst thing was, he was nearly as angry with himself as he was with Lucius. Severus had brought her there, knowing that exactly what had happened was a possibility, albeit a remote one, he had thought.

The issue wasn't whether she could handle his intrusion, because Severus had correctly believed her strong enough, but it was the fact that she shouldn't have _had_ to.

He could lay blame for her need for secrets and even for vigilance on Bellatrix, but without his shared acquaintances, she wouldn't have to fear Legilimency attacks from anyone but Bellatrix herself.

This might be the first time that anyone besides himself or Bellatrix had tried to invade her mind, but he knew it would be far from the last time, if the Dark Lord ever returned to power.

In the darkness and isolation of his office, Severus admitted to himself precisely what his worst fear was.

_If_ the Dark Lord ever did return, there was more than enough evidence for him or his followers to question Severus' loyalties. And if they did, they were sure to view his daughter as a rich source of information.

That was the reason, truthfully, that he had let Calista off her Saturday lessons this week. It was easier for someone to pick up thoughts that were about themselves, and he couldn't trust himself keep these thoughts hidden yet, not from her, and not during an Occlumency lesson.

_Damn you, Lucius_, he growled inwardly, _I was not ready to worry about this for a few more years, at least._

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Calista nearly flew into the common room, scanning for a familiar blonde head. There she was, sitting with Portia in front of the fireplace. Their heads were bent together, and when Calista drew close she heard giggling.

"Olivia," she said, blocking their view of the flames, "Have you talked to that fifth-year boy, Colin, today?"

"What? No, I haven't. Why?" Her blue eyes were wide, innocent. Calista's own eyes narrowed.

"I just saw him in the library. He was acting really odd."

Olivia waved her hand and laughed derisively. "Oh, really? You, who've only spoken to him once, believe you're qualified to call his behaviour odd, now?"

Calista scowled. "Yeah, I do. It was odd for anyone."

"Well, I know nothing about it. Why were you talking to him, anyway?"

"He came up to me. He was looking for _you_, which was why I asked if you'd-"

Just then, the door to the common room opened, and Colin stumbled in, blinking several times and looking rather lost.

"I must have gotten lost on my way here," he announced to no one in particular, "I nearly wound up in the Potions classroom. Isn't that strange?"

He looked around the common room, and his expression was almost... vacant. Then, his eyes found Olivia and they positively lit up. He broke into another of his overwhelming grins.

"Olivia! Oh, my beautiful darling, I thought I'd never find you."

"Shhhh, Colin, hush!" Olivia shook her head frantically as she rushed to his side. "It's all right, I'm here now. Let's... let's go somewhere else."

"I'll go anywhere," Colin declared, not lowering his voice at all, "As long as it's with you. Can I - can I smell your hair before we go?"

_Oh, shit._ Calista's already pale face completely drained of color, and her head felt suddenly light. _Ohshitohshitohshit._

"Calista?" Portia sniffed, "Are you all right?"

By the time Calista felt she could move again, Olivia had already hustled Colin out of the common room. She tore after them, slamming the common room door shut behind her, instantly blocking out the rising hum of voices behind her.

"Olivia!" she shouted, catching up to the pair, and grabbed the blonde girl's arm roughly. "_Are you bloody mental?_" she hissed, eyes wide. "Do you have any idea what you've done?!"

"Shh!" Olivia's eyes darted toward each end of the corridor Calista had stopped them in.

"You told me that potion was for your parents!"

"Shhh!" Olivia matched Calista's hiss, "Are you trying to get us found out?"

"Olivia," Colin remarked dreamily, "You look so lovely when you're angry."

"I have to fix this," Calista said frantically, "I need to make the antidote, before anyone finds out. Olivia, you have to hide him until I can figure it out."

"Hide him? Are _you_ mental? I didn't go through all this trouble to _hide_ him."

Calista's jaw dropped. "Trouble? You think you've gone to trouble?"

Olivia glanced sidelong and Colin, who was reaching reverently for a lock of her hair.

"Calista, calm down," she whispered, "You won't tell anyone, and I won't tell anyone. I'll just say Colin and I got together over the holidays and really hit it off. No one will ever know. Our secret."

"Secret?" Colin interrupted again, "I can't keep you a secret. I need to tell everyone that I'm madly in love with you." He tilted his head back, and shouted to the ceiling. "I'm in love with Olivia Avril!"

"I'm not letting you ruin this, Calista. If you try to, I'll tell everyone you made it to try and make him fall in love with _you_, only it didn't work. They'll expel you for sure."

"No one will believe you."

"I think they might," Olivia smiled smugly. "Didn't I ever mention that I purchased the ingredients in your name? Oh - and I took another look at that Potions book you filched from your father's class. It seems you've written 'Mrs. Calista Greengrass' all over the page about Amortentia. That was rather careless of you, don't you think?"

Calista's hand slipped into the pocket of her robes, and her fingers curled around her wand.

"I don't want you to be expelled, Calista," Olivia said quietly, "If no one ever finds out about the potion in the first place, they won't find out who made it."

"Olivia," Calista said desperately, "Look at him. There's no way someone won't figure it out. You've got to get me the ingredients for the antidote before they do."

"Not a chance, Snapelet." She took Colin's arm, sauntering down the corridor with him in tow.

At that moment, Calista knew only one thing, knew it deep down to her core, with every fibre of her being.

_I am so screwed._

* * *

(A/N: So yeah. I'm finally back. I've had the whole story in my head for a long time, and I really want to see it out. I can't promise it will be fast, or perfect, but I want to finish this story. I hope you're still interested in reading it, after all this time.)


	19. Year 2: Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

Calista tore out a page from the catalog she'd been frantically flipping through and threw it vengefully across the second-year girls' dormitory. It bounced off the far wall and landed on Olivia's bed. Calista's cat, Yellow, mewed plantively at her from her perch on Calista's pillow. He stretched out a paw and pricked her with a claw, as if reprimanding her for waking him.

It was no use. There was only one way to solve her problem, and that was to get the antidote for the Amortentia she had been stupid enough to make for Olivia - or, rather, clever enough to make. The stupid part had been agreeing to do it in the first place, and Calista was honestly still a little shocked that she'd apparently managed to get the potion right, albeit after several failed attempts.

She patted the cat absently, soothing it back to sleep.

The problem was that the ingredients in the antidote, much like those in the original potion, were not items that were readily available to second-year students. Olivia had gotten her hands on the ingredients for the love potion, but she was refusing to help Calista undo it.

None of the catalogs students were allowed to order from had what she needed, and there was no way she'd find any of them in the stores of ingredients the students were allowed to use in the dungeons.

There was one way Calista could get the ingredients, and when it occurred to her again, she shut it out. No. There was no way she was going to steal them from her father. Firstly, it was completely wrong, and even thinking about it made her feel slightly ill; and secondly, there was no way she'd get away with it. The man knew _everything_.

The door opened, and Portia and Emily entered the dormitory. "Have you seen Olivia?" Portia asked.

"Not since she shafted me this afternoon," Calista didn't even have the energy to glower. She felt like she was awaiting sentencing.

"Is she still with that Greengrass boy?" Emily wondered, "I don't think that's such a great idea. I mean... he's kind of _old_. What if she's not ready for... for whatever he wants to do?"

"Oh, I'm only about to get expelled, and I don't even know what my dad's going to do when he finds out. Thanks for asking."

Emily bit her lip, and sat down on the edge of Calista's bed, looking far more earnest than Calista felt like she could handle at the present moment.

"Colin's a Prefect. It would be really bad for both of them if... if something... _happened_."

"You think I don't _know_ that? If I can't undo this somehow, Olivia and I are _both_ going to be -"

"_Don't_ say that, Calista, please don't. It's not funny."

"Why are you taking her side, Emily? I already _asked_ her to help me get the ingredients for an antidote, and she won't help. She said she's going to tell everyone it was all my idea, that _I_ have some reason to want to give him that stupid potion."

"I'm not taking sides, I just -"

"Want everyone to get along, I know. Save it, I don't care right now." Calista huffed out of the room and into the common room, for no reason other than to get away from her roommates.

She was greeted by a tall, thin girl with brown hair pulled into a ponytail, who looked up from a textbook on her lap.

"Hey Snapelet, what's wrong? You're in your second year, you have no business looking like you just failed all your O.W.L.s."

"Kimberly!" Calista's face filled with relief. "I can't believe I haven't already thought to ask you!"

"Uh-oh. Ask me what?"

Calista sat down next to Kimberly, and glanced around the common room. There were two seventh-year students studying together, but they were at the far end of the room and seemed pretty absorbed.

"I need the ingredients for a potion," Calista whispered, "It's a... a sixth-year potion."

Kimberly's eyebrows arched nearly to her hairline, and then she laughed.

"Of course you do. I shouldn't be surprised. Let me guess... Polyjuice Potion? You don't want to mess with that one, ickle Snapelet, trust me."

"Be quiet," Calista whispered, glancing over at the studying seventh-years. "It's not funny. I need... I need gurdyroot, rue, and kneazle claw."

Kimberly's eyes narrowed, and then widened. "Gurdyroot, rue, kneazle claw... and you've already got wiggenweld twigs and castor oil in your potions kit this year... Calista, why in Merlin's name would you need to make a love potion antidote?"

"_Please_ don't ask. Do you have any?"

"I have gurdyroot and rue, but kneazle claws are used in Veritaserum... you have to get a Professor to sign off on it before they'll deliver it to the school... you must know that. Oh!"

Kimberly's eyes grew wide again, and she snapped her fingers. "I just realised... _that's_ why Colin Greengrass has been acting so strange, walking around all glassy-eyed... Bloody hell Calista, did you dose him with a love potion?"

"_No_, I didn't," Calista replied hotly, "_Olivia_ did. But... I made the potion."

"Now why would you go and do a stupid thing like that? Colin's too old for her."

"No kidding. She told me she needed it for her parents."

Kimberly snorted. "And you believed her? I thought you were cleverer than that, Snapelet. Look, it's not really that big of a deal. Most love potions wear off after a few hours, a few days at most. And anyway, as long as it's not Amortentia or something, you probably won't get in too much trouble."

Kimberly's jaw dropped as she observed Calista's expression. "No way. You did _not _make Amortentia for your little friend."

"Kimberly, shh!" Calista shot another glance at the seventh-years, who were starting to look a little irritated at the noise.

"_Shit_, Snapelet. That's both terribly impressive and terribly _stupid._ What's your dad going to do when he finds out?"

"He can't find out, he just can't. You don't have _any _kneazle claws? Aren't you guys making the same antidote this year?"

Kimberly shook her head. "No, Professor Snape took it off the curriculum. We're doing a Draught of Living Death instead, he said that one's been on the exams more lately."

She looked down at her younger friend, and placed her hand on Calista's shoulder. "Listen, I still owe you for that thing with Ethan's sister last year. I can come up with some special research project to do for Snape, okay? I'm in his N.E.W.T. class, so it shouldn't seem that suspicious. I'll say I want to try out a potion I saw in a book, something with kneazle claw, and I'll get him to sign off on it. It's going to take a few days though, for me to come up with something, and for it to be delivered. I have Potions on Tuesday, I'll see to it then. But you've got to get your friend to keep away from Colin, and you have to hide him somehow. Walking around the way he has been, it's not going to take long for someone else to figure it out."

"I can't," Calista said, blinking against a sudden stinging sensation in her eyes. "Olivia doesn't want me to undo it. She threatened to tell everyone it was all my idea."

"Wow," Kimberly said, "You really need to find some better friends, kiddo. That one sounds toxic."

"Yeah," Calista replied miserably, "I'll try to remember that in my next life."

Feeling doomed, she left the common room. She couldn't just go to bed like everything was normal, when she was going to be in massive amounts of trouble the next day. For all she knew, she thought miserably, it could be her last night at Hogwarts.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Calista walked through the castle for well over an hour before Professor McGonagall caught side of her and told her to go back to her common room. She returned to the dungeons, and without thinking about it, wound up in front of her father's office door. It was magically locked, but she had long known how to open it without breaking the spell. She slipped inside, and crossed the room silently to survey the jars and bottles on her father's shelves.

Her eyes lit on each of the necessary ingredients in turn. Gurdyroot, rue... The only thing that wasn't here were the kneazle claws, but she was nearly certain he had some in the workroom below his quarters. If she could just get a few...maybe she _could_ manage to make the antidote before anyone realised Colin had been dosed...

Her eyes stopped, fixated on a small bottle filled with a clear liquid.

"Love Potion Antidote". It was right there, in her father's familiar handwriting, between "Boil-Cure Potion" and "Re-Ageing Remedy".

She lifted her hand, ran her fingers over the label. It felt rough, dry. Before she could think about it, her fingers wrapped around the bottle. It felt small and cold in her fist. She turned around, took a step towards the door...

Unconsciously, her head turned. She saw her father's desk, and even though it was currently vacant, she could easily picture him sitting there.

She thought of all the times she had been in this office; the arguments, the reprimands, the detentions. And then, of course, there were the times that he had stayed awake into the wee hours of the morning, sitting at this desk and occupying himself with paperwork as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world to be marking essays at three in the morning, so she would feel comfortable confiding in him.

Her heart sped up, and her hands shook, because what she had to do next would not be easy. She tightened her hold on the bottle in her fist, turned, stepped forward, and put her hand on the door knob.

She knew that opening this door could not be undone; she was making her choice, and if it was the wrong one, it would be too late to turn back.

Taking a breath, she turned the knob and pushed the door open.

"Dad," she said, stepping into his study, her voice thick with unshed tears, "I did something I really, really shouldn't have done, and I need your help."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Severus was reading a wordy and analytical essay in _Potions Digest_ in his study to help himself over the worst of his ire with Lucius Malfoy. It never failed; something about challenging his mind, feeding his hunger for knowledge, always helped him focus.

He glanced up at the enchanted hourglass on his wall. It was getting late. When he finished this essay, he judged it would be time to get some sleep.

He finished the article, and was making note of several of the citations to research later, when he heard the door to his quarters swing open and then click shut.

Calista stepped into his study, one hand balled into a fist. She looked pale, nervous, and about ten seconds from tears.

"Dad," she said, and he could hear those tears in her voice," I did something I really, really shouldn't have done, and I need your help."

He had already gotten to his feet the second she came into sight looking so distraught. After her declaration, he set down his copy of _Potions Digest_ and the parchment he'd been writing on, and crossed the few steps between them.

"What happened? Are you all right?" He reached for her trembling hands, but she wrenched them away. He thought he felt an object in her right hand before she did.

"No. Yes. I mean, I - I'm all right, but I... you're going to be livid with me, and I might get expelled... I don't know what else to do." He could barely make out her words, her voice was so thick with anxiety. Her eyes glittered, and she bit her lip. He didn't need legilimency to know exactly how she felt just then.

He moved some books from the other chair in his study, motioned her to sit. "Calm down. Tell me what happened."

She sat down on the edge of the chair, and trained her eyes on the floor.

"Olivia convinced me to make a love potion for her Christmas gift. She... she told me it was for her parents, t-that they were fighting all the time, and I..."

She took a deep breath, let it go, and met his gaze. He could see the naked fear in her eyes; whether she was incapable of hiding it, or was choosing not to, he couldn't say, and at the moment, the distinction didn't seem important.

"She got me all the ingredients, and I... I made _Amortentia_ in a cauldron in my wardrobe. She g-gave it to a fifth-year boy, and-"

"You did _what?_" Severus interrupted, certain he had misheard her.

A tear slid down her face, and she turned away, brushing at her cheek roughly. It took her a couple of seconds to recover. "I brewed Amortentia, and she gave it to Colin Greengrass. Now she says she's going to tell everyone _I _dosed him with it if I interfere."

A moment of silence stretched out between them before she felt brave enough to look at him again. She opened her fist, showing him the bottle.

"I took this off the shelf in your office, just now. I know what it looks like, but I didn't steal it. I couldn't."

Severus stepped towards her, and plucked the bottle from her fingers. "Stay here. I'll be back shortly."

He felt her eyes on him as he left his quarters, bottle in hand. He took a path directly to the entrance to the Slytherin common room, spoke the password to the stone wall, and walked inside. A quick glance around indicated there were only two students in the common room - a boy and a girl, who were snogging very enthusiastically in front of the fireplace.

When Severus entered, the boy glanced up at the noise; he saw the boy's eyes widen, and the two sprang apart, both of them turning, wide-eyed, towards him.

"P-Professor Snape! Is something wrong?"

"Miss Avery, Mr. Briggs," he greeted them, as if he had only walked in to see them studying. "You have classes tomorrow morning, I believe? Perhaps it's time to call it a night."

"Of course, sir," Kimberly said, and she couldn't be out of his sight fast enough.

"Actually, Mr. Briggs," he said, almost as an afterthought, "If you could check in on the fifth-year dormitory and rouse Mr. Greengrass for me, I would appreciate it."

Ethan nodded, his lank blond hair falling forward and partially obscuring his flushed face. "Of course, Professor."

A moment later, Ethan returned, holding Colin's elbow. The latter smiled vacantly, despite being roused from sleep. "Hello, Professor. It's a lovely evening, isn't it?"

"Is he... is he all right, Professor?" Ethan asked, eyeing Colin with raised eyebrows.

"Good night, Mr. Briggs."

Ethan took his cue and went to his own dormitory, casting only a single glance backwards.

Severus regarded the teen carefully, ascertaining the effects of the potion. He cast a SIlencing Spell around the two of them, in case any of the other Slytherins were still awake.

"How are you feeling?" he prodded.

"Oh, very well, thanks. Although, I am a bit lonely now that you mention it. I haven't seen my darling Olivia in... how long have I been sleeping, sir?"

"I don't know," Severus answered mildly, "Is that all? You don't feel ill, or clammy, or faint?"

"Goodness no," Colin answered. "Professor Snape, sir? Do you suppose Olivia would mind if I woke her?"

"I don't think that's the wisest of ideas."

"Oh." Colin's smile faded for the first time since he had entered the common room. "That's a pity. It would be wonderful just to gaze at her beautiful face again."

Severus sighed. "It doesn't appear as if you're experiencing any side effects, at least. Here, Mr. Greengrass. Drink this." He uncapped the tiny bottle, and handed it to the youth.

Colin downed it without even glancing at the label. Well, that saved them both some time, at least. Severus watched, as the dopey, lovesick expression on Colin's face slowly melted into one of horror.

"Oh no," he moaned, "What happened? I... I can't believe I've been acting like such an idiot all day. My friends must think I've gone mental. And - oh my god, I can't believe this."

"My apologies, Mr. Greengrass. I need to know to what extent you've been - ah, involved - with Miss Avril before I can let you return to your dormitory."

Colin brought his hand to his face and shook his head. "I'm so embarrassed. I... I kissed a second year. What _happened_ to me?"

"The second year, Miss Avril," Snape repeated, "I'm afraid I must know, did you do anything else with her?"

Colin flushed a furious shade of red. "Of course I didn't, Professor. I can't even believe I kissed her."

Severus nodded sympathetically, satisfied that Colin was telling him the truth. "I'll let you return to sleep, then. Try not to worry too much. You aren't the first and you won't be the last student to be slipped a love potion. You'd be well advised to keep a closer eye on your food and drink in the future, though."

Colin nodded, face still scarlet. "Thanks, Professor," he managed, before ducking his head and returning to his dormitory.

Severus slipped the empty bottle into his robes, and left the common room.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

When Severus returned to his study, Calista was still sitting on the edge of her armchair, hands clasped in her lap.

"Mr. Greengrass is back to himself, although he is terribly embarrassed. All three of you are very fortunate that nothing worse happened."

Calista rose, relief flooding her features. "Thank you... I know I'm in trouble, I know you have to tell the Headmaster. I feel so stupid, I never should've let her talk me into it."

Severus regarded her solemnly.

"I cannot even tell you what shocks me more - that you managed to correctly brew Amortentia, that you evidently felt that doing so and giving it to Miss Avril would be a good idea, or that you actually came to me for help instead of trying to hide this from me and fix it yourself."

"I-"

Severus held up his hand, stopping her. "Three things are going to happen. Firstly, you are going to have private Potions lessons every week, whether you want them or not, after your regular class. If you're going to insist on thwarting the rules and attempting dangerous potions, you're going to do it in my classroom, under my eye.

"Secondly, I am going to write to MIss Avril's mother and inform her that her daughter has been procuring forbidden Potions ingredients with the intention of slipping love potions to older boys.

"And thirdly..."

Severus reached out, tapped his finger under her chin. The gesture was gentle, and Severus searched her face when she lifted it. Her relief and regret were both plain on her face. His expression softened.

"You're not going to be expelled. We are, however, going to have a conversation very soon about learning when to say no to your friends."

Calista blinked, unsure she had heard correctly.

"Wait. What about... detentions, or an essay about all the things that could've gone wrong? You're not just going to let me get away with this, are you?"

Severus placed his hands on her shoulders and smiled - there was something about it that was almost indulging. "As a matter of fact, I am."

"What? Why?" Suspicion replaced confusion.

"To be perfectly frank, I'm letting you off because as dangerous and ill-advised as your actions were, I'm pleased that you came to me when you realised you were in over your head. And I doubt you'll be making forbidden potions in your wardrobe again, after this?"

Calista shook her head vehemently, "Definitely not," she said, sincere.

Severus lifted his hands from her shoulders. He knew it was getting late, but she was as emotionally open as he could ever remember seeing her, and he was finding it difficult to send her away now. Perhaps it was only a remnant of her nerves, but Severus hoped that in conjunction with her coming to him tonight in the first place, it was something else.

He felt certain there was a meaningful conversation they should be able to have now, about trust and opening up to each other, but he didn't know how to start it.

Still. How many opportunities had there been like this, where she actually seemed receptive, open? Only a handful, and his uncertainty had caused him to waste each one of them.

"I'm glad you didn't steal the antidote from my office," he said, and then winced inwardly. Probably not the most auspicious start.

"When I grabbed it, I thought I was going to," she said softly, and then, after a pause: "Do you remember when I was younger, and I used to sit in your office and draw pictures, and you put them all up on the walls?"

"I do."

"They were awful," Calista said. "I knew they were, too. Sometimes I made them bad on purpose, just to see if you'd still say they were good and hang them up. You always did."

"That's because I didn't know they were supposed to be cats," he said, and he was rewarded with a small smile. He motioned for her to sit down again.

She hesitated, and there was a moment where Severus feared that simply acknowledging the fact that they were having a real conversation would cause her to end it. But she did sit down again, curling her legs up onto the seat. Severus leaned against the doorframe, facing her.

She was quiet for several minutes, and Severus used the time to consider his next words.

"Aside from myself, you are the only person in the castle that can open my office door without breaking the spell-lock on it. I have it set up that way on purpose, so you can find me if you need me, or even hide if you need some time away from your peers."

He paused, then: "During Occlumency lessons, I only view the contents at the surface of your mind. I test your barriers beyond that, but I never attempt to see what's behind them, because you trust me not to. If I betrayed that trust, then you would be in your rights to be furious with me, but how else would you feel?"

She looked over at him; the light in the hall behind him was brighter than the light in the study, so she could not see much of his features.

"I'd feel... awful," she said, her voice small. "I think I'd feel like... like I couldn't trust anyone."

"It would essentially be stealing from you. I won't ever do that to you, Calista, and I hope that you would never do that to me."

She moved her arm, wiped her palm across her cheek, attacking a tear that he hadn't even seen yet.

"I won't," she said, and she took a breath before adding, "I think that's what I feel the worst about. That, for a second, I had the bottle in my hand, and I didn't know what I was going to do with it."

Severus nodded.

"Then I don't think we need to discuss it anymore."

He tried another small smile, watched her school her face into composure. She took a couple of deep breaths, and when one of them was still shuddery, she chuckled darkly. "I don't know what's with me tonight."

"It's been quite a night," he said, leaving his post in the doorway. "You can sleep here tonight, if you want to. I'll wake you early enough to go back to your dormitory and get ready before class."

Calista nodded and rose from her chair. She didn't leave the room immediately, though; instead, she paused right in front of Severus and looked up at him. For a moment, they seemed to hover in front of each other, both of them toying with the idea of giving the other a hug, but neither of them quite committing.

"Thanks," Calista said, ending the moment. She managed a tired smile, and then slipped past him, out of the room.


	20. Year 2: Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

The next morning, Calista persuaded her father to have breakfast sent up to his quarters from the kitchen, and they ate together. She slipped back to her dormitory when she guessed her roommates would be eating breakfast in the Great Hall, and changed into her school robes.

When she arrived in the Potions classroom, she took a seat next to George Spratt, an overweight Slytherin boy who usually had an empty seat on either side of him because of an unfortunate body odor problem. She opened the text at random, pretending to read the instructions for a Hair-Raising Potion. Students streamed in, and her father took his place at the front of the classroom. All too soon, Olivia stormed into the classroom, flanked by Portia and Emily.

Olivia drew up to George's side and thumped her cauldron down on the table in front of him.

"Move it, Fat Spratt," she commanded, and Calista rolled her eyes when he obeyed, carrying his things to the seat Calista normally sat in. Olivia slid into his vacated chair, and aimed a ferocious glare at Calista.

"_What did you do?_" she hissed, just as the bell signalling the start of class rang. "Colin's been avoiding me all morning. I warned you! If you've ruined this -"

"Silence," Severus commanded, eyes sweeping across the classroom; they paused for a fraction of a second on Olivia and Calista.

"We are brewing Pepperup Potion today," he announced brusquely, "I am told the hospital wing is in short supply, so all those who make it _correctly_ will bottle it for use. You will need to pay very close attention once your potion is in the simmering stage, as it will be ruined if the powdered bicorn horn is allowed to settle at the bottom of the cauldron."

Calista set about preparing her potion, doing her best to ignore Olivia's glowering beside her. She filled her cauldron about a quarter of the way with water, lit a flame beneath it. While it heated, she began untangling bits of knotgrass, so they wouldn't clump together in the potion.

"What did you do?" Olivia asked again, in a vicious whisper. When Calista didn't answer, she 'accidentally' knocked a pile of Calista's things onto the floor. Severus looked over at the sound, and she quickly made a show of helping to pick them up.

"Miss Avril, Mr. Weasley, switch seats for the remainder of the class," he said.

"But Professor-" Olivia began.

"That's not fair sir, Percy didn't do anything!" Oliver Wood protested.

"I don't recall inviting a class discussion," he intoned smoothly.

Neither of them looked at all pleased, but they did as they were told. Percy sat next to Calista, eyeing her warily.

Calista added her knotgrass carefully to her cauldron as Percy set his up again, laying his ingredients out neatly as his water heated.

Without the distraction of a fuming Olivia next to her, Calista relaxed into the familiar rhythm of brewing her potion. She and Percy worked side-by-side in an unexpectedly companionable silence, both cauldrons simmering nicely, precisely the right colour.

Until, that is, halfway through the class, when Portia took an extra fistful of knotgrass and dumped it into Percy's cauldron when his attention was focused on powdering his bicorn horn. Calista saw the motion, turned her head and locked eyes with Portia just as the last of the knotgrass slipped into Percy's cauldron.

Percy missed Portia's interference, but he did notice his potion turning dark, paste-like. His face flushed full of colour as he abandoned his bicorn horn to stir the cauldron frantically.

Professor Snape walked by at this precise moment, raising an eyebrow at Percy's frenzied motions. "No amount of stirring is going to fix that, Mr. Weasley." he waved his wand, clearing the contents of Percy's cauldron. "Begin again." the professor's eyes shot up to the clock on the wall; there were a scant ten minutes left to the class period. "You will remain after class to finish, and be sure to add the _correct_ amount of knotgrass this time."

Percy's face was bright red, and his expression was sad, embarrassed, wounded. Calista thought, with a jolt, that he looked much the way she had felt when Olivia had threatened to tell everyone the love potion was all Calista's doing… in fact, he looked the way she felt at almost everything Olivia had ever done. She looked over her shoulder across the room, and saw Olivia grinning wickedly at Portia. She heard Portia choke on a barely concealed snigger behind her. A familiar burning feeling of injustice swirled through her veins. She hated both of them, Olivia and Portia, and the way they always thought they could do whatever they wanted to other people.

"Percy added the right amount," Calista was faintly surprised to hear herself announcing, loud enough to carry across the room, "Portia sabotaged it when he wasn't looking. I saw her."

Silence fell over the classroom for a fraction of a minute. Then Professor Snape's voice cut through the silence, soft and knifelike at the same time. "I see. In that case, Mr. Weasley, you're off the hook. Miss MacNair, on the other hand, you will stay after class and brew an extra batch for the hospital wing to make up for the one you so casually ruined."

Moments before the bell, Calista finished her own potion, and put the flame beneath her cauldron out. She walked to a small table at the front of the classroom, where her father had laid out flasks for them to fill. She grabbed four, took them back to her station, where Percy was putting his own supplies away. She set the flasks down, took a spouted ladle, and set to filling the first one, careful not to spill a drop.

She felt the presence of someone at her shoulder, and stiffened; when she stopped pouring to look up, it was Percy, holding his own ladle. It was an older, chipped version of hers, but otherwise identical. "I'll help," Percy said, as the classroom bell rang out. Other students scrambled to gather their things and exit the classroom, except for Portia, who sat glowering in her chair, and Oliver Wood, who lingered in the doorway, eyes on Percy.

Calista shrugged awkwardly, and slid one of the flasks towards Percy. Briefly, the only sound was the gentle sloshing of the potion against the sides of the glass flasks; then Percy swallowed audibly and spoke again, hesitantly. "Thanks for telling Professor Snape what happened."

Calista vigorously stuffed a cork into the flask she had just filled. "I just hate them getting away with being arrogant prats," she muttered. Far more carefully, Percy corked a flask as well.

"Aren't you and Portia friends?" his tone was still careful, uneasy, as though he were expecting her to redirect her anger on him at any moment.

"No." she answered shortly, filling the last flask. Oliver tapped his foot in the doorway, aiming a meaningful (and impatient) look at Percy.

"Right. Well, I've got to go… er, thanks again, Calista."

She nodded, but Percy had already turned away, gathering his things and leaving with Oliver. She picked up the four flasks and carried them to the front of the room, where her father had been watching her exchange with Percy. She set the flasks on his desk.

"D'you want me to stay or come back later for my private lesson?"

Severus glanced over her shoulder, and Calista followed his gaze; Portia sat glumly in front of her cauldron, half-heartedly grounding a fresh bicorn horn. She felt Calista's eyes on her, narrowed her own into a glare for the fraction of a second it took her to realise that Severus was looking at her too; then she hurriedly looked down at her potion.

"Come back in an hour; I expect Miss Macnair to be nearly finished by then." He lowered his voice, gave her a wry smile. "I think we'll make a batch of love potion antidote. My supply seems to be depleted."

Color filled her cheeks, and her eyes flashed; Severus bit back a dark chuckle.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

"I finally got my Shrinking Solution to come out right," Marcus said, grinning, sliding into the seat opposite Calista at one of the study tables in the library, "You were right, it was too much leech juice."

Madam Pince cleared her throat purposefully; Marcus lowered his voice by a fraction.

"I remember you said a dash was only a tiny bit, so I just pretended it said 'drop', only I used big drops."

"A dash is an eighth of a teaspoon," Calista said, "It's listed in the index of the textbook. Although I guess a 'big drop' works too, on potions that aren't so sensitive."

"Hang on, if it's an eighth of a teaspoon, then why doesn't the book just _say_ 'an eighth of a teaspoon'?"

Calista shrugged, and stared down at her open Transfiguration book.

"Hey, are you and Olivia fighting?" Marcus asked curiously, "I haven't seen you together much lately."

"We're not 'fighting'. We're just not friends."

"Oh, right. Are you doing that girl thing where you stop being friends for awhile, then make up and go shopping together, or whatever?"

Calista raised her eyes and glared across the table at Marcus; he was grinning, teasingly.

"_No_," she said, gritting her teeth, "I'm doing that thing where I decide not to hang around with spoiled, stupid prats anymore."

Marcus nodded, as if his suspicions had been confirmed. "I knew it was that girl thing. You people are weird with that. I bet it's about _Colin_, isn't it? He was in here acting all mental that day, and now you and Olivia are fighting. You both _fancy_ him, huh?"

There was something like derision that twisted at Marcus' last question; Calista barely registered it, felt her face get hot, clenched her fists under the table.

"It's not a '_girl thing_'," she said forcefully, with precisely the same note of derision Marcus had used, though she didn't notice. "We're not friends. Period. And I don't _fancy_ anyone. Now, are you going to help me with this stupid spell or not?" She slammed her Transfiguration book closed, and the breeze from the cover snapping down over the pages riffled both their hair.

"All right, all right," Marcus said, shaking his head with a faint smirk that annoyed Calista. "I'm just taking the piss."

He reached into his robes and pulled out a little white mouse by its tail, placing it on the table. "Here, I nicked this from the stables for you to practise with." The mouse scrabbled around on the table, and as soon as Marcus released its tail, it rocketed for the edge of the table. Marcus lunged for it, while Calista went for her wand, intending to cast a freezing spell. She couldn't get a clear shot, though; the mouse slipped through Marcus' fingers and wound up, somehow, in her lap. It squeaked and scrabbled, panicked, and when Calista reached down to scoop it up, it clawed at her hand.

She readied her wand in one hand while the mouse squirmed in the other, and plopped it down on the table again, swiftly casting the spell before it could get away again. The mouse sat in the middle of the table, next to Calista's textbook, with rodent-fear frozen on its face.

"Okay," Calista exhaled, pushing her hair out of her face. She twirled her wand, rehearsing the spell in her mind before casting it.

Marcus watched her, and reached out across the table, touching her free hand. She yanked it back instinctually. "You got scratched, there." Marcus said, and Calista brought her hand up, glanced at it. There were a few scratches from the mouse's sharp little claws, but she shrugged, wiping her hand absently on her robes and concentrating on the spell.

She waved her wand, pronounced the incantation carefully, and produced a very anxious-looking snuffbox with whiskers and a long pink tail.

"I've never seen a girl act so… ungirly about a mouse," Marcus said, "Most of 'em would've started screaming if it landed on them."

Calista made a comically incredulous face at him. "It's a mouse, not a dragon," she said, before turning a scowl on her mouse-box. She lifted her wand to turn it back.

"Hang on," Marcus said, eyeing it thoughtfully. "Can you just… get rid of the tail and whiskers?"

"Uh, no," Calista said, "That's what my whole problem is, remember?"

"I mean right now," he said quickly, "Before you change it back. If you got it partway transfigured by casting the spell once, maybe you can finish it by casting again."

Looking dubious, she cast again; precisely nothing happened.

"I hate Transfiguration," she said acidly.

Marcus scratched his head. "It seems like it should have done _something_, doesn't it?"

She shrugged, and reversed the spell, reverting the mouse back to its original form. "I have no idea, obviously."

"Yeah," Marcus said, more forcefully, "It definitely should do something. When I was practicing the beetle-into-button spell, one of my buttons still had eyes one time, so I cast the spell again when McGonagall wasn't looking, and the eyes went away."

Calista tried the spell again; the mouse-box returned. "Maybe I've already reached my terminal Transfiguration ability," she snarked.

"Nah," Marcus said, missing her sarcasm, and without a hint of shame, "You're plenty cleverer than me. If I got it to work, you will too."

"At this point, I think I have a better chance of becoming captain of the Quidditch team."

Marcus grinned. "Speaking of which, when are you going to come down to the pitch with me?"

"Since when is that a plan? I hate flying, remember?"

"How can you hate flying? It's amazing! It's the only reason I even care about school, really. You can't sign to a Quidditch team if you don't finish wizarding school."

"I'll keep that in mind," she said dryly. She sounded very much like her father.

He cocked his head, eyeing her. "You're not… are you afraid of flying?"

"No!" her face flushed, and she stabbed her wand angrily in the direction of the mouse again, completing another half-transfiguration.

"Ahem!" Madam Pince called disapprovingly, "Quiet!"

"But," Marcus said, voice lowered, "You get to hit things. Something tells me you'd like that."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Having officially declared herself once again out of Olivia's clique, Calista resorted to her old habit of tagging after Kim Avery and her friends in the sixth year. They teased her quite a bit - at least, the boys did - but all in all, it was a marked improvement over the way they had competed to gross her out last year. Besides, she knew what to expect from them, and she found that a relief. She'd take their (mostly) good-natured teasing over Olivia's hot-and-cold friendship any day.

Besides, she was starting to realise that Kim was right; Olivia was a toxic friend, and nothing good had ever come for her from that relationship. Of course, Calista following her group around like a lost puppy was probably not what Kim had in mind when she'd said so.

There were place she couldn't follow them, too; namely, Hogsmeade. Third years and over could go with a signed permission form at certain weekends, and though Calista had gone with her father several times, she wasn't allowed to go by herself.

A few weeks after she had become an accessory to their group whether they welcomed it or not, another of the Hogsmeade weekends came around.

"Reckon they'll serve me if I lie and say I'm of age?" Conor Quinn was asking, as the group sat outside next to the lake. Calista had found them out there after her extra Potions lesson one Friday afternoon.

"Not likely," Peter Boyle snorted, "They're real strict about that in Hogsmeade. I've gotten beer with my dad loads of times, but they'll never give it to me at the Three Broomsticks."

"Maybe that's because you act like such a bloke in front of Madam Rosmerta," Kim teased, imitating a dopey, love-sick expression. The others laughed, except for Peter, who blushed furiously, and Calista, who wrinkled her nose quizzically.

"Wait, you fancy Madam Rosmerta?" she questioned.

"No I don't," Peter muttered, just as Kim, Ethan, and Conor all answered to the opposite.

"Why?"

"I don't fancy her, she's just… nice," Peter said lamely.

"Ha," Kim crowed, "He does too fancy her, and it's because of her big -"

"Come off it, Kim! I do _not_ fancy her."

"Actually," Conor guffawed, "Now that you mention it, I think I might fancy her too."

"That's daft," Calista interjected, "She's a _grownup_."

Conor raised his eyebrows. "Uh, yeah. That's kind of the point."

"Well I think the whole idea is daft, anyway," she declared, "I don't fancy _anyone._"

All of them snickered at that.

"You don't yet," Ethan said, "But I bet you will. Next year, probably."

"She already does," Kim said, "Remember when Colin Greengrass was all mooney-eyed and lovesick a few weeks ago? Our little Snapelet dosed him with a love potion."

Calista's face turned as red as Peter's had been a moment ago. "That's not true! I don't fancy him! I gave that potion to Olivia, she's the one who dosed him with it."

Kim waved her hand. "Semantics," she said, grinning wickedly. "Look, I'm not saying I blame you. He's plenty handsome, if you're into that pretty-boy thing."

Ethan's grin faded suddenly; he looked positively sulky, until Kim clarified, "Which I'm not. But you and your little friend aren't the only girls at school who are."

Calista was not liking the direction of this conversation; she backtracked it to safer ground. "I made Amortentia," she blurted, hoping it would significantly impress them so they'd stop teasing her.

They looked at her, all but Kim disbelieving. "No way," Ethan said, "You're too young."

"Well, if she's making it up, she committed herself to it, because she was asking me for kneazle claw to make the antidote." Kim supplied.

"I did make it," Calista said, unable to keep from swelling up a bit with pride. "In a cauldron in my wardrobe."

"Wow. Not bad," Conor said, "But do something more interesting next time, like Polyjuice Potion. If you're going to get in trouble it might as well be worth it."

"Yeah," Kim agreed, lighting up with a mischievous grin. "You could use it to turn into Conor, you could borrow his Quidditch robes, and then you could sneak into the locker room after practise and watch Colin change."

Calista deflated more quickly than a balloon that had been stepped on by Hagrid, the half-giant gamekeeper. She made an exaggeratedly disgusted face, sticking her tongue out and shaking her head rapidly.

"Ugh, no way. I don't want to see _that_!"

"Not me!" Conor said, even louder than Calista, "The whole team'll think I'm some kind of pansy all of a sudden."

"Even more reason," Kim said, laughing so hard that her words were strained. The rest of them sniggered, except Conor, who had gone nearly the same shade of red as Calista.

"Seriously, Kim. You better not get the idea to help her pull something like that. I don't care if you're a girl, I'll deck you."

Kim snorted. "As if you could. I'd have you turned into a ferret before you could finish even _thinking_ about it."

"Turn into Marcus Flint," Conor said, shaking his head, "Everyone on the team takes the piss out of him anyway, for being the youngest."

"I am _not_ making Polyjuice Potion to turn into anyone," Calista clarified, "Firstly, because-"

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever, we're just teasing." Ethan waved his hand, apparently tired of tormenting both her and Conor.

"What if I drank, like, fifteen butterbeers? Think I could get drunk that way?" Conor earnestly picked up the thread of their prior conversation after a beat of silence.

"Not before you exploded," Peter guffawed. "Maybe we can nick some firewhiskey off the shelf when Madam Rosmerta's not looking."

Calista listened for a place in their conversation to contribute, but she couldn't go to Hogsmeade, had no interest in getting drunk, and had learned her lesson as far as commenting on Madam Rosmerta. She faded into the background of their group, until she grew tired of being unnoticed, and stood up to head back inside.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Calista hadn't been lying when she'd told Marcus she had no interest in Quidditch or flying in general, but after her Occlumency lesson on Saturday, she felt so burnt out and listless that she'd found herself heading in the direction of the Quidditch pitch anyway.

She was exhausted from the strain of the lesson, to be sure, but she was also awake, restless from exerting so much mental energy, and she felt the need to be somewhere, do something. The key was to be somewhere and do something far enough away from her father that he couldn't spring any more surprise Occlumency tests on her, because she didn't think she had the energy to keep more than a basic defence intact.

There was a team practising on the pitch; they were wearing regular Muggle clothes instead of Hogwarts robes, so she wasn't sure which team until she got into the stands.

There was a cluster of other students watching the practise; she saw the flash of Percy Weasley's red hair among them, so she supposed it must be the Gryffindor team that was practising. She squinted; it was. She could see his brother Charlie now, flying around in slow circles and looking for what even Calista knew must be the Snitch.

She didn't really have any interest in watching the Gryffindor team practise, but she'd feel foolish turning back now after she'd walked all the way here, so she sat down a fair distance from the other students, thinking too late that she should've at least brought a textbook with her, or something.

They were all very good fliers, from what Calista could see. Charlie Weasley was flying slower than the rest of them, but he always managed to dodge gracefully whenever one of his teammates sent a bludger hurtling towards him. The keeper, a seventh year whom Calista didn't really know, was flitting back and forth across the goalposts, and the rest of the team zipped around so fast that Calista could barely keep track of who was who.

It was kind of visually interesting, she supposed, the way they wove in and out of each others' paths, confident on their brooms. Of course, she didn't have a choice but to be interested, since she had brought nothing else to occupy herself with. She had thought maybe the Slytherin team would be practising, and at least she knew Marcus. Maybe, if she had come to watch them practise, he would stop bothering her about it.

Then again, she reflected, if the Slytherin team were practising, then Olivia and her cronies would probably be here too, so maybe it was best that it _wasn't_ the Slytherins.

"Calista. Oy, Calista." she heard her name faintly behind her and to the left; she looked over her shoulder, and saw Percy waving to looked back at him blankly. He was waving at her, right? Of course, he had said her name, so there was that… she lifted her hand, awkwardly returning his wave.

"Come sit with us," he called, and she looked all around, to make sure there was no one else around that he could be talking to. There wasn't. Shrugging, she stood and navigated her way through the bleachers, drawing up a row in front of the other spectators.

Most of them were Gryffindors, but there were a few Hufflepuffs and at least one Ravenclaw as well. There were, she noted, no other Slytherins.

"No sense in watching all by yourself," Percy said. Now that she was close to him, he looked as uncertain and uncomfortable as she felt. Maybe he hadn't really wanted her to join them. Well, she was here now and the only thing more awkward than sitting with them would be walking away again. She climbed back another row and perched gingerly at the edge of their group.

"You're not here to spy for the Slytherin team, are you?" Oliver Wood asked her suspiciously, leaning over Percy and an older Hufflepuff girl with a shock of unnaturally blue hair.

"If the Slytherin team was going to send someone to spy for them, I'm thinking they'd pick someone who actually knows all the rules," Calista replied testily.

"How can you not know the rules to Quidditch?" Oliver challenged scornfully, "It's only the most important sport in the wizarding world."

"How can you not know how to make a basic potion without blowing up half the classroom?" Calista retorted.

"Hey now," the girl with blue hair said mildly, "Blowing up the potions classroom is something that can happen to anyone, right?"

Calista opened her mouth and then shut it again. Well, she hadn't actually blown anything up, but there were a few times when she was younger that she would have if her father hadn't caught her mistakes in time. She shrugged noncommittally instead.

"So what _do_ you know about Quidditch?" the girl asked curiously.

"Well," Calista said, "I know that Beaters get to hit things."

The girl laughed. She had a wide, pretty face that opened up when she was smiling or laughing. "Good answer," she said, and stuck her hand out in introduction. "I'm Nymphadora Tonks, but don't actually call me Nymphadora on pain of death. Tonks is fine."

Calista shook her hand tentatively; the girl had a firm handshake. She seemed pretty no-nonsense in general, aside from the blue hair. "I'm Calista Snape," she said, and watched Tonks' eyes widen slightly.

"I just want to say that none of my explosions in Potions class were intentional," she said quickly, giving Calista a sneaking suspicion that maybe some of them were.

"Is that how you made your hair blue?" Calista asked, "With a potion?"

"Nope," Tonks replied smugly. "Watch this."

She appeared to be concentrating for a second, and then her hair went from a short, spiky blue style to shoulder-length and bubblegum pink. She concentrated again, and her hair was purple. The third time, she changed her nose into a shape that resembled a bird's beak.

Calista laughed. "That's brilliant," she said, "So you're a metamorphmagi?"

Tonks nodded, as her hair went back to the choppy blue style it had been before, and her nose returned to normal. "Makes Halloween right easy, I'll tell you."

"I wish I could do that," Calista said, just as the students around her erupted into a collective cheer. She looked back at the pitch, and saw Charlie Weasley holding up his fist. Something gold glittered in it.

"Forty-six minutes," Oliver called, checking his watch. "Brilliant! It took the Hufflepuff seeker twice as long to find it during their last practise. No offense, Tonks," he added, looking at her sidelong.

"None taken," Tonks said cheerfully, "I'm just here for the hot chocolate."

"Hot chocolate?" Calista echoed, and Tonks pointed towards the pitch, where an empty table sat at the edge.

"Charlie always gets hot chocolate sent out from the kitchens after practise. It used to be just for the team, but then he started getting enough for all the Gryffindor spectators, and then, well...a few of us from other Houses found out, and now the team gets to show off in front of a crowd."

Tonks smiled conspiratorially at Calista, "But like I said, we mostly just come for the hot chocolate."

When Calista looked back at the pitch, she saw that the table was now laden with mugs and a large ceramic vessel. The stands emptied as the handful of students streamed onto the edge of the pitch. Calista followed, and took in the delicious smell of chocolate. She took a mug that was offered to her, and filled it from a spigot near the bottom of the container.

Dusk was lingering around the horizon, and the air was just starting to crisp up. Calista wrapped her fingers around the warm mug of chocolate, watched it steam into the cool spring air.

She took a sip, thinking for the first time that coming to the Quidditch pitch had been an excellent idea after all. Then she felt a pair of eyes on her, and looked up to see Charlie Weasley eyeing her quizzically.

"A Slytherin, eh? I think you're the first one to come for our practise. Not spying, are you?"

"No," she said, and she caught Tonks' eye. "I guess I'm just here for the hot chocolate."

Tonks grinned, and Calista found herself smiling along.


	21. Year 2: Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

_Calista was in a long, narrow hallway. Wooden planks of flooring stretched out before her and behind her; she could not actually recall where she was, or how she had gotten here, and this house was at once familiar and foreign. She had a sense that there was someone else in the house with her, but friend or foe she couldn't say._

_She stepped forward, hoping that continuing on would jog her memory as to why she was here. The floorboards creaked and groaned underneath her slight weight. Doors rose up on either side of her, looming into existence only when she drew close; perhaps it was too dark for her to see them properly until she was nearly on top of them, or perhaps they really were appearing from nothing as she came near. In this house, that seemed somehow to be a reasonable possibility._

_She came to the end of the hall, and found herself looking up at a long, narrow staircase. It was so long, and so gloomily lit, that it disappeared into shadow mere steps above her._

_She had dozens of choices, but they really only amounted to two: she could try one of the doors lining the hall, or she could climb the stairs and see what was up there. She glanced back over her shoulder, but the darkness behind her somehow felt more dangerous than the darkness ahead; she set one foot on the the first stair, gripped the banister. Her heart felt thready and light in her chest, as she slowly ascended._

_There was a landing, and then the stair turned back on itself. Well, she had come this far. She rose, and found that the stair ended in a hallway much like the one downstairs. Just as before, doors rose up on either side of her as she walked. This time, she stopped in front of a door to her left, at random. She put her hand on the knob, and pressed her ear to the door. There were no sounds from inside._

_She felt, all of a sudden, that there was someone else at the other end of this hallway, someone drawing closer to her. She hadn't yet decided if this was someone she wanted to encounter or not, so she turned the doorknob, and stepped inside the room._

_It was a sitting room, of sorts. There was a large, faded rug on the floor, a sturdy coffee table, a floral sofa. She knew at once that this room was empty of other people, had been for some time. She stepped into the center of the room, pushing the door closed behind her. The person in the hallway was coming closer still; she couldn't hear footsteps, but she had found that somehow, in this house, she was finely attuned to the presence of whoever else was here with her._

_They were close, now; she knew, without understanding how she knew, that this person was trying doorknobs in the hall, too, but that none of them were turning. As the presence approached the room Calista was in, she felt her pulse quicken, her heart pound. This person was someone familiar, she felt now, and she wasn't sure if it was someone she wanted to face._

_She looked again at the door. It was ajar, but she was certain she had closed it behind her. Had there been a draft? She looked all about the room, and noticed another door to her left. Feeling a sudden anxious need to leave this room, now, she crossed the room, pulled open the other door. The knob turned for her, just as the first one had._

_She glanced back at the door she had first entered the room by, lingering in the new doorway. Did she have time to go back, to push the first door closed again? She felt the presence right outside of the room; no, she didn't have time. She slipped out of the room, pulling the second door shut. _

_She found herself, unbelievably, in another hallway. This one was wider, and instead of doors, there were empty doorways, beyond which she could view a variety of other rooms; except, she realised, they were all sitting-rooms. They had different rugs, different furnishings,and some had plants or bookcases, but all were sitting-rooms. She ducked into one at random, found that it had a door inside of it, too._

_The other person was in the wide, open-doorway hallway now, too. Calista glanced back through the open archway into this room, and saw only the person's shadow playing against the long wooden planks of the floor, following her in earnest._

_She opened this door, too, and found herself at the foot of another staircase. The other person was right at her heels; she ran up the staircase in a hurry, not even bothering to pull the door closed behind her._

_This staircase was longer than the first. Just when Calista reached the top, she felt the other person setting their foot on the bottom step. Calista turned the corner hurriedly, and found that she was in another, tiny hallway. This one had only one door, at its end._

_She took only five or six steps before she reached the door. It had a window in it, unlike any of the other doors she had seen in this house; in fact, she reflected now, she could not remember having seen a single window anywhere in this house before now._

_She pulled open the door, and stepped into a round room, with windows all around. It was like the top of a lighthouse, minus the lantern. She closed the windowed door securely, took stock of the room she was in._

_There was no furniture. The floor was plain wooden planking, like that of all the hallways. All of the windows were bare, but the glass within them, she saw upon examination, was frosted, so that one couldn't properly see in or out of it. Dim, grey daylight seeped through; it was dawn or dusk._

_The other person had reached the top of the stair, stepped up to the door. Calista walked back to the door, looked out the window set in the door, the only window in the room that wasn't cloudy._

'_Of course' she heard herself say, as she locked eyes, through the glass, with her mother, Bellatrix. Her mother's skin was milk-pale, her eyes wide, dark, hollows in her face. Perhaps it was only Narcissa's suggestion echoing in her mind, but she thought she could see something of herself reflected back in the high arch of her cheekbones, the narrow chin, the delicate expanse of her forehead._

_The doorknob rattled, but didn't turn. 'Let me in, child,' Bellatrix mouthed through the glass, and Calista could decipher her words perfectly even though she couldn't actually hear them._

_Calista shook her head, pressed her palms against the inside of the door. She could feel the rough grain of unfinished wood beneath her hands._

'_Please,' Bellatrix's lips moved again, 'Open the door. I can't see you properly through the glass'._

_It must have been true, Calista realised, because even though the glass was smooth and clear, she couldn't quite make out the irises of her mother's eyes - perhaps there was too much shadow in the hall, or perhaps the glass wasn't so clear, after all._

'_Mother,' Calista breathed, uncertain. It felt like a false name; like a rope you would grab to stop yourself from falling, only to realise it was, in actuality, a snake._

'_Yes, child. It's me.' Bellatrix lifted her hands, placed them at either side of the window, set her nose only a hair's' breadth from the cool glass. 'Let me in, so we can speak, so we can be together'._

'_But I don't want to,' Calista said, reflecting, 'I want to be my own self.'_

_Her mother's expression twisted, and her hands began to claw at the glass. The slipping, screeching sound of it broke the silence, and Calista started, stepping back from the door. Her mother must have been kicking at the door, too, because it rattled and shook in its frame._

_Calista looked around again, but the room was still bare. All she had were herself, and the robes she was wearing. She looked down, fingered the black cloth of her robes, the silver clasp of her cloak. Bellatrix howled, and even though Calista couldn't hear it over the force of her fury against the wood and glass, she could see the way it twisted her mother's face._

_Calista's fingers twisted the clasp of her cloak, and she pulled it off her shoulders, held it up against the glass, and then - just like that, the door stopped shaking, fingernails stopped scraping against the glass._

_Astonished, she stared at the black fabric of her cloak, until she realised that the darkness was actually the inside of her own eyelids. She woke up, eyes snapping open, and the little windowed room, the house, melted away into the nighttime._

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

The next morning, Calista sat at a study table in the Slytherin common room, trying, for the thousandth time, the damn mouse-snuffbox spell, fruitlessly. It was a Saturday, and she'd skipped breakfast, finding she didn't have much of an appetite.

The memory of last night's dream still lingered around her like an aura. She couldn't shake the feeling of being hunted, haunted. The dark, gloomy hallways, the looming doors, the round, windowed room cloaked in grey semi-light; they all felt _real_, like it was a place she had been before.

And then there was Bellatrix, and Calista couldn't decide which incarnation was haunting her more; her mother's corporeal form battering at the door, or the shadowy, swift presence that had dogged her progress through the strange house.

She had Occlumency lessons soon, and she knew she needed to tell her father about her dream, and she wasn't particularly looking forward to either of those things. She felt exhausted, physically and mentally, as if she had been up all night studying, or perhaps practising this horrid spell.

She swished her wand again, created another whiskered snuffbox, and sighed, changing it back.

Just now, while she kept the dream to herself, she could tell herself that it didn't mean Bellatrix was really still trying to reach her; the whole thing, she could almost believe, was only the product of her exhausted, overworked mind. She spent hours each week preparing for an attack from Bellatrix, so wasn't it possible that her preoccupation had caused the dream, that it hadn't been an actual attack at all?

Except she was fairly certain what her father's opinion on that would be, and she wasn't ready to hear it. She wasn't ready for the impending onslaught of intense Occlumency lessons, either. She wished she could talk to him about the dream without those particular consequences. It would be nice, she thought, to feel like a normal daughter, to go to him with her fears and receive only comfort, not more lessons and more paranoid vigilance.

WIthout extra lessons and paranoid, protective vigilance though, would he still be her father? She toyed with the idea briefly, as a philosophical question. She stifled a smile by biting the inside of her cheek; it was a clever thought. She wished she could share it with someone.

Just when Calista thought her morning couldn't get any more complicated, Olivia slid into the chair opposite her, and waved her wand. The mouse turned into a beautiful silver snuffbox, Calista looked across the table, meeting Olivia's gaze. The blonde girl sniffed.

"I can't believe you're still struggling with this simple spell," she said haughtily.

"What do you want?" Calista snarled, immediately defensive. She felt a dull headache begin.

"What did you think you were playing at in Potions class? Portia got a detention because of you."

Calista blinked, sucked in a breath, rocketed to the present moment against her will. "Because of _me_? Portia got a detention because she cheated and sabotaged someone's potion - which could have been _extremely_ dangerous, since we both know Portia had no idea what she was doing-"

Olivia waved her delicate hand dismissively. "Save it, Snapelet. You weren't so concerned about _safety_ when you brewer Amortentia in our wardrobe."

Was this inane conversation really happening right now? It was, and Calista resented it for more reasons than Olivia could possibly understand.

"_You made me do that!_" she hissed, "And it's not the same, I actually know what I'm doing-"

"Did you know what you were doing when you blamed Portia for Weasley's junk potion? You-"

And Calista interrupted her this time, slamming her palms down on the table. The snuffbox rattled metallically. "You know as well as I do that Portia's the reason that potion went junk. She sabotaged him, just like I said. I only told the truth."

Olivia's eyes narrowed. "'The truth'," she said icily, derisively, "Never mind that. You're supposed to have your housemates' backs, not _Percy Weasley_'_s_."

"Why do you care again?" Calista retorted, "I mean, it's not like _you_ got a detention, and since when do you care about any of us?" she waved her arm, inclusive of the whole common room, though she only meant herself, Portia, Emily.

A couple of other students, likely bored and avoiding homework on a Saturday morning, looked over with mild interest at the pair, Emily among them - though her eyes were wide, darting from one girl to the other as if she had a stake in their discussion - which, maybe she did.

"Honestly, Calista," Olivia said, nose wrinkling, "It's like you _want_ to be an outcast for the rest of your life. I'm giving you the chance to apologise to me and you're throwing it away."

"Apologise to _you_?" Calista said, and now she was really angry; she could feel rage pulsing all around all of her edges - but she could also feel the eyes in the common room, the way they were on her. She could feel the cool, disdainful blue of Olivia's own gaze, and she hated the way that all of it felt; hated, suddenly, the warmth of the sunlight that streamed into the common room, hated the heat of her own anger that was threatening to cause her, again, to act aggressively, erratically. She hated it all.

Her fingers curled reflexively, gripping the edge of the table; they practically spasmed for want of her wand. It was in her pocket… she knew she could have it in her hands, could shut Olivia up in just a few seconds…

And then, unbidden, she had the flash of an image in her head; the wooden door from her dreams rattling. The shadows and planes of her mother's face, clear through the glass but for her eyes. The twisted way her mouth had moved, her long fingers had clawed, trying to _get in_ at any cost.

And wasn't this seething anger she felt familiar, too? Didn't she burn now with the same energy that had rattled that door on its hinges, that hungered for the chance to get inside that little frosted-window room, to _win_? She thought that she could _feel_ Bellatrix crawling through her mind, feeding her anger, egging her on - but there was no intruder. There was only her own rage, so real and hot that it was taking on its own form, inside of her head, inside of her blood. Making her ache with he need to reach for her wand, to curse, to hurt...

She drew in a great breath again, for the second time in their argument. She spread her hands flatly on the table in front of her, deliberately, closed her eyes for a fraction of a moment. It wasn't very different from Occlumency, the way that she gathered the threads of her ire, suffocated them with a cool, dulling blanket of reason. She would get in trouble; Olivia would find a way to get even; everyone was watching her; it wouldn't solve anything long-term. Doing it, cursing Olivia - it would probably amuse her mother, if she ever found out. More certainly, it would disappoint her father, and he _would_ find out.

"I am sorry, Olivia," she said at last, fully expecting her words to sound weak, like retreat. She spoke quietly, because backing away from a fight seemed, to her, like admitting defeat; but she knew in her heart that deferring to Olivia was the lesser of the losses she faced in that instant. "I'm sorry that we can't be friends, because it was nice having the four of us, you and me and Emily and even Portia…"

She paused; she knew what she had to say, had to decide, but she was afraid. Giving up, for good, on Olivia's friendship meant giving up the identity she'd more or less clung to since she started at Hogwarts.

"Well, that's a start," Olivia sniffed, "But if you want it all back, you're going to have to find a way to make it up to me."

"See, that's the thing," Calista said, and she was surprised to hear that her voice, even though it was soft, was firm, steady. In the absence of her rage, she felt something else taking hold inside of herself - something similarly hard, but without any aggression in it. Something that made it not only possible, but natural, for her to say what she needed to. "I don't think we _can_ be friends, anymore. I don't like the way you treat people, and I don't like the way I treat people when I'm friends with you. Making you happy always seems to hurt someone else, and it makes me act like someone I don't want to be."

"What are you trying to say?" Olivia raised her voice in disbelief, glanced around the common room. Calista's declaration had been quiet, but as Olivia's voice rose hysterically, she garnered an audience. "I'm not giving you another chance, Calista. If you walk away from me, you're going to be an outcast until we graduate."

"That could be true," Calista said, and she felt a pang of regret; was this a mistake? But there was that something-else inside her, that reassured her. This felt… maybe not right, exactly, but it felt… true. It felt like stirring the contents of a simmering cauldron, knowing they were exactly the right color. "But it doesn't seem as bad, anymore, as being a person that I don't even like."

She took another deep breath, let it out. She lifted her hands from the table, rose from her chair. Her eyes met Olivia's, and she saw more or less what she had expected; twin irises of cool blue, an expression of mixed disbelief and disdain.

"Excuse me, Olivia. I have extra lessons to get to."

Olivia stepped back, and Calista made to walk past her. But if there was one thing Olivia could be counted on for, it was cruelty in front of an audience, so long as that audience didn't include a professor, or someone else with more power than she had.

"I don't need an ugly, misfit little crybaby for a friend," Olivia said, so the whole common room heard, "You were crying again last night - did you have a scary dream again, ickle Snapelet?"

Calista felt the air still around her; her anger simmered in the background of her mind; she wanted, badly, to lash out, but nothing she did could erase Oliva's words, or the fact that everyone had heard them. She turned her head to look at Olivia, and the other girl's expression was triumphant.

Everyone was watching; no one was saying anything. Calista found it took nearly all of her energy to step towards the common room door; and then her vision blurred, and she knew she was about to cry, in front of all of them, and she suddenly felt as if the common room door was a thousand miles away. Where was her new feeling of strength, that had gotten her through her declaration? Now she felt only hollow, defeated.

There was a motion at her right; she thought, wildly, that Olivia was going to hex her, and then someone gripped her elbow, and she started, blinked. She felt a tear slide down her cheek, and the heat of it was nothing to the rush of humiliation she felt welling up inside her.

"There's more than one kind of ugly, Olivia," a boy was saying, and when Calista blinked again, she realized it was Marcus Flint, that he was the one that was holding her elbow. He was in his Quidditch gear, and his broom was in his other hand. Calista was sure he hadn't been in the common room when their argument started, and his being here now made everything seem a thousand times worse; he'd make fun of her now, too, and who would she study Transfiguration with? "Being horrible to someone that's supposed to be your friend is pretty ugly, if you ask me."

Marcus, inexplicably, was steering her through the common room. He glanced back at Oliva, and said, loudly, "You were right, Calista. She is a spoiled, stupid prat, and no one needs friends like that."

He set his broom down and nodded at another Slytherin boy, which apparently passed as some form of communication, and opened the door, and they stepped out into the corridor together. As soon as they were through, Calista lifted her arms, wiping her hands across her eyes, working against the flow of tears. Marcus released her elbow.

"Are you all right?" he shifted, uncomfortably. "I hope I said the right thing. I just… she was reminding me of someone, and I couldn't stand it."

Calista sniffled, and rubbed at her eyes, and managed a reply, even though it bubbled around a sob that was caught in her throat. "I don't… I'm trying really hard not to yell at you right now," she said, "Because that's what I always seem to do whenever anyone is nice to me."

Marcus' expression was uncomfortable, too; then it cleared, and he shrugged. "I think I'd rather if you yelled at me," he said, "At least I know how to handle that."

"I know," Calista said, wiping furiously at her face again; she swallowed another sob. "I'm being… I don't know…"

"A girl?" Marcus supplied helpfully, and Calista didn't quite laugh, but at least she was able to stop crying.

"Yeah, a bit," she admitted, and shook her head. "I'm sorry. I just let her get to me. I don't usually… um, cry."

"I know," Marcus said, shrugging again. "Like I said, she was being a prat. Where are you going? I'll walk with you, if you want."

"Potions classroom," she said, "I have, uhm, extra lessons with my dad."

Marcus nodded, and they started walking. "Seems like a downer to me, to have extra lessons, but then I just had early morning Quidditch practise, so I guess it's kind of the same thing."

Calista didn't think so; lessons were something real, and Quidditch was just a stupid game. But Marcus had just helped her out, so it didn't seem like the most appropriate time to point that out to him.

"Who did Olivia remind you of?" she asked, instead.

Marcus sneered. "Gerald Boot. You know him?"

Calista shook her head.

"Well, he's this Ravenclaw," Marcus said, "In my year. We're in the same class for Charms, and he's always calling me out in front of the class whenever I get something wrong. He likes to throw it in my face that I'm behind the rest of the class, like I don't already know it. He's in Flitwick's house, so he doesn't get in trouble. He used to really give me a hard time, calling me a Troll, and hexing me when no one was looking. It's not so bad anymore, though."

"What happened?" Calista asked, "Why isn't it so bad anymore?"

"Well," Marcus said, and he grinned at her, just as they approached the door that led to a little hallway that contained the doors to the Potions classroom and her father's office, "He's on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team, right? During our match against them last year, I hauled off and hit him pretty good with a Bludger, right in the face. Broke his nose and everything. I got a Penalty, but it was worth it. More or less leaves me alone, now."

Calista laughed darkly. "Somehow I don't think the same solution's going to work for me."

"I dunno," Marcus said, "I still think you should try knocking a Bludger around sometime."

He pulled open the door, motioning Calista through to the little hallway. The Potions classroom was on the left, her father's office door on the right.

"And I still think that's a bad idea," she said, stepping through the doorway, "But then again, the idea of smashing Olivia's stupid face in…"

He grinned, again."Think about it, then. I'm going to go change out of these Quidditch robes and see if I can find some more breakfast."

Calista nodded, and Marcus turned to leave; she surprised herself, again, by calling after him, pushing the hall door open and sticking her head partway out.

"Wait. Marcus?"

"Yeah?" he half-turned.

"Why did you stick up for me?"

His brow furrowed; he looked genuinely confused. It wasn't a new expression on his face, but it was the first time she remembered seeing it outside of a classroom or a study session.

"Because you're my friend, duh. See you later, Calista."

He left, back the way they had come. Calista felt a flicker of something a little bit like whatever had give her the strength to sign off Olivia's friendship forever; something solid and true.

She pushed open the door to her father's office.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Severus stood in his office at precisely half-past nine, the time when Calista usually came for Occlumency lessons. Earlier in the year, he'd shifted their lessons from afternoon to morning so she could go to the Quidditch matches with her wasn't typically late, but today the minutes passed.

He became dimly aware of a flash of negative emotion that wasn't his; it had to be coming from Calista. Was she in trouble? He didn't think it felt like fear - was it anger? He wondered if he should go fetch her, but he didn't want to embarrass her if it turned out to be nothing.

After fifteen minutes, he was prepared to go and find her anyway, but then he heard voices in the hall outside his office door. He couldn't make out the words, but he recognized the pitch of his daughter's voice.

He turned around just as the door opened, and she stepped into the office. He searched her face immediately, intensely.

Calista backed up a step, meeting his gaze warily. "What?" she snapped, defensively.

Severus backed up a step, too. He reached a tendril of thought out to her, testing. Her mind was guarded, and there was nothing in the very first layer that gave him any clues. Except… hm. A quarrel of some sort with that Avril girl?

"You were upset, a few moments ago. I felt something coming from you, for a few seconds."

She dropped her gaze, shrugged her shoulders. "It's fine now, I guess."

Neither of them spoke for a pause, which is why he could hear it when her stomach rumbled.

"Did you eat breakfast?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I wasn't hungry."

"But you are now." He didn't wait for a response, just opened the door to his quarters, ushered her in. He didn't keep much in the little kitchen, since he usually ate in the Great Hall with everyone else, but he did have some bread and jelly. He used a controlled-flame spell to toast the bread, and set it down on a plate at her usual place at the little wooden table.

She sat down without a word, and spread jelly on the toast. He puttered around the kitchen for a bit, making two cups of coffee - he didn't let her have it much anymore, but she had had her birthday a couple of weeks ago, and she was thirteen now. He supposed once in awhile wouldn't harm her.

Of course, the entire time, he was also testing her defences. She had several layers intact, from what he could tell, without any apparent weakness. He felt a swell of pride; she was getting better.

He sat across from her, sliding one of the mugs over to her. She finished her toast and reached for the mug of coffee.

"Thanks," she said at last, lifting it and blowing gently into it to cool it down.

"So," he said, prodding gently, "What happened? Are you all right?"

Calista looked at him over the edge of her coffee mug. "You know, I had this thought today," she said, "You know that old saying, if a tree falls in the woods and no one's around to hear it, does it still make a sound? Well I was wondering, if I came to visit you and you _weren't_ giving me extra lessons or worrying about me, would you still be you?"

Severus' brow lifted slightly. "Perhaps if you ever came to see me when you weren't in need of extra lessons or being worried over, we would find out."

She took a sip of coffee, set the mug down, and toyed with it, running her fingers through the handle, and pushing it gently back and forth on the table.

He gave her the space of several minutes, and sure enough, she came around with an answer.

"It was a bad morning. A bad night, too. I had another dream about _her_-"

Severus tensed; he knew Calista could feel it, when she shot him a brief look.

"It's fine, I think. I don't know. And then, I had a fight with Olivia."

Ah. So he had been right about that. Still, a schoolgirl quarrel hardly seemed worth the burst of emotion he had felt from her earlier. Then again, that Avril girl was a piece of work… his lip curled.

"I told her I'm done trying to be friends with her, forever."

He kept his expression neutral. "I see," he said, carefully, "What made you decide that?"

"I just…" she lifted her cup, took another small sip, then wrapped her fingers around it. "It seems like whenever I'm trying to make her happy, or trying to get even with her, or trying anything to do with her at all, I'm unhappy and I'm angry, and I don't like the way it makes me feel."

She looked at him earnestly; he wanted to ask her, immediately, about the dream, but he bit his tongue, let her continue.

"It's something Kim Avery said to me, and I think you kind of said it once, too. She's not a very good friend. And I feel like whenever I'm friends with her, I'm doing things that I'm not proud of."

"Your argument with her is why you were upset today?"

"Yeah," she said, and then amended, "Well, kind of. It's just… I get that way a lot, and it seems to have to do with her more often than not… I get this anger, and it's just boiling inside me, and it makes me want to lash out, and hurt someone."

She set her cup down, and pulled her legs up onto the seat of the chair, folding her arms tightly around them. She set her chin on her knees, and her voice was suddenly small.

"I felt like I wanted to hex her, and it wasn't… Dad, it wasn't like normal being angry and wanting to get even, it was like… like I just _had_ to do something to her, like it was hurting me not to do it. I felt like… like _she_ probably feels every time she casts an Unforgivable Curse. And I don't want to feel like that. I don't want to _be_ like that."

He studied her, the earnestness in her face, the way she hugged her knees tight to her body. He wished she was small again, that he could allay her fears by buying her a kitten again… except, when he thought about it, the last time he had done that, he'd wound up with a damn cat, so maybe not a kitten.

"What did you do?" he asked her quietly.

"I tried as hard as I could to calm down, and eventually, I did. I told her that I couldn't be her friend anymore, ever. And then I came here."

She paused, but he sensed there was more coming. She hunched her shoulders, pulled herself into a tighter ball of girl on her chair, and muttered something into her knees.

"Of course she called me an 'ugly little misfit crybaby' first, and I basically proved her point by crying in front of nearly the whole common room."

He set his own mug down quickly. Could he give the Avril girl detention for that? He probably could. "But you weren't crying when you came into my office," was all he said aloud.

"Yeah," she said, "Marcus Flint stuck up for me. He kind of cheered me up before I got here."

"Ah, Mr. Flint. Is he a friend of yours?"

She lifted her chin, set it back on her knees. "I guess he is," she answered, tilting her head. "We study together sometimes. I help him with Potions and he helps me with Transfiguration. He keeps wanting me to go play Quidditch though, which is about as likely as Hagrid performing an opera."

Severus chuckled. "So any day now, you're saying." He smiled. "Does that mean that you're the one that helped him manage to brew a Shrinking Solution without burning down my classroom?"

"Yeah," she said, "It was just the leech juice. He didn't know how much a dash was."

Severus nodded. He flicked at her barriers again; they were still solid. Of course, he could break through them if he chose to; that wasn't the point. The point was that she was holding them, even while having a conversation.

"I'm not sure if you're soliciting for my opinion or not," he said, "But I think you probably made a wise decision to try and find some alternative friends to Miss Avril."

She met his gaze, expression suddenly serious. "Dad, what if some of my new friends might be from other Houses?"

"I don't see how that changes anything."

"Even…" she swallowed, "Even if one of them might be a Gryffindor?"

He curled his lip in an expression of exaggerated disgust, and then he gave her a wry smile. "Just please tell me it's not Mr. Wood, unless you're going to teach him not to melt cauldrons as well."

"It's… uhm… Percy Weasley," she said, and then rushed to explain, "It was nice, working with him in class this time. He's not bad at Potions, and he helped me bottle mine at the end. I went to watch a Quidditch practise, and he was there, and he invited me to sit with him and his friends, and most of them actually weren't bad. Except for Oliver Wood," she added, curling her own lip, too.

"Calista, I hope you don't think that I would disapprove of the friends you choose just because of which House they're in. I'm far more concerned with how they treat you and how they make you feel. If Miss Avril makes you unhappy, and Kimberly Avery and Marcus Flint, and yes, Percy Weasley, make you happy, then I think you've already figured out which of them are worth your time."

"I met this Hufflepuff girl too," she said, encouraged. "Nymphadora Tonks. She's a metamorphmagus, she can turn her hair all sorts of colours… she seemed nice, too."

"Ah," Severus said, leaning forward a bit. "She's your cousin, actually."

"What?" Calista's feet hit the floor again, and she leaned forward, too. It was probably a good thing she didn't have a mouthful of coffee, or he would have been wearing it. "I thought Draco was my only cousin."

He shook his head. "Narcissa and Bellatrix had one other sister, Andromeda. She's Nymphadora Tonks' mother. I gather from Narcissa that Mr. Tonks is a Muggle, which is why your new friend won't be invited to Christmas Dinner at the Malfoys' anytime soon."

"So," Calista said hopefully, "Could it be possible, then, that I could be a metamorphmagus too, only it hasn't come out yet?"

Severus smiled at her ruefully. "I'm afraid not. They're quite rare, and from what I understand, they exhibit their ability very early on."

Calista frowned, reached for her coffee again, and drained the majority of what remained in one long sip.

"You'll have to settle for being quite possibly the youngest Occlumens in the world," he said dryly, watching her. Her expression lit up immediately with pride, and she smiled. Good. That's what he'd been hoping for. He smiled, too, and then:

"So. About this dream…"

Calista rolled her eyes. "Why'd you have to go and ruin it? We were having a moment, and now you're right back to worrying."

"In my defence," he said, "I've been quite anxious to ask you about it since you got here. It's been -" and he glanced through the kitchen doorway. He could just glimpse the clock in his study from here. "Thirty-eight minutes. What happened? Did she reach out to you again?"

"I'm not completely sure," she said, tilting her head, and setting her elbows on the table.

"Did she touch you again?" He remembered every time that Bellatrix had given Calista the impression of having physically touched her in a dream, because every time, Calista had broadcast her alarm to him. He hadn't felt anything last night, though. He hoped that meant that it _had_ simply been a dream.

"She didn't touch me," Calista said, "She never reached me, but I knew she was following me, only at first I wasn't sure it was her."

She described the dream, the long, narrow hallways of the house, and the round, windowed room at the end. When she got to the part about Bellatrix looking at her through the glass, asking to be let in, he started.

"She actually said those words? 'Let me in'?"

Calista nodded, and Severus stood, began pacing in the tiny kitchen. "And you felt her presence? Was it any stronger when she was trying to break the door down?"

Calista frowned, considering. "I guess. I mean, she was definitely trying hard to get in the room, and at first, I just told her no, but then when the door started rattling… I had this idea that I had to cover up the window, but there was nothing in the room, so I took my cloak off and held it up against the window."

"And that made her stop?"

"Well, I woke up after that, but I think it worked."

He paced in silence a few moments, and then said, "This is the first time that you've dreamt of her and had a door between you?"

Calista nodded. "It was the only time that I felt like I was still in control," she said, "Normally, it's like she's overpowering me, and it's so hard to say 'no' to her, but this time… I guess it's because she couldn't touch me, and I couldn't see her eyes, so she must not have been able to see mine, either. But this time, I felt like, of course I knew that I didn't want to let her in, and it was easy for me to tell her so, to keep from opening the door. I was just afraid she was going to break it down, eventually."

"Your barriers," Severus said, pausing in his pacing to stand aside of her chair, placing a hand on her shoulder. "That's what protected you. It means you're keeping them up. even when you're asleep. That's good. We just need to make them strong enough that there isn't even a door she can batter on to try and get in."

She looked up at him, guarding her eyes. "But she's miles and miles away now," she said, "How much stronger will she be if I ever have to face her in person?"

"I don't know," Severus told her honestly, "That's why I aim to teach you until I can't anymore."

Calista shivered. He realised how that had sounded.

"Until I've taught you everything I can," he amended. He pulled his hand from her shoulder, took up the seat across from her again.

"I think it's time we tried your defences against an armed attacker again," he said, drawing his wand. He could see the way she steeled herself, exhaled, squaring her shoulders, as if preparing for a physical attack.

"_Legilimens," _he intoned softly, letting himself into her mind.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

He hated the feeling that he was invading her mind, hated that he always had to push her just a little further. But he couldn't deny that it was working. He could sense the difference, between when he had begun these lessons and now. Her defences were much stronger now than when they had started out.

Her talent wasn't close to fully developed; if he'd wanted to, he could have picked through her mind, thread by thread, dismantled it, even. But he was starting to suspect that the group of people who could have done that to her was diminishing, with each lesson. Once, he had questioned whether he could train her well enough to defend against Bellatrix, against his own enemies someday.

Now, he didn't question _whether_ she'd be strong enough; only when. Because that was the other thing that he was seeing, when he infiltrated her mind, when she gathered her defences…

Occlumency was a tricky, nuanced art - to practise it, one needed magical potential, mental fortitude, a high degree of willpower, and a strong sense of emotional intelligence. Even then, all of those things had to come together, in just the right way, along with a focused dedication and at least a speck of natural talent for it, for one to become truly skilled at deception. It was often difficult to pull all of those things together, to get them working in tandem, even if you had all the elements, and so it was equally difficult, sometimes, to assess someone's _potential_ for Occlumency.

Except, for Severus, he had spent so much time traversing the hills and valleys of Calista's mind, that he could assess her potential. He could see all the elements she needed - the willpower she had been demonstrating, week after week, when she pushed doggedly through his lessons, no matter how exhausted she was. As for power...she had it. She didn't know how to use it, yet. But it was there, most of it lurking beneath and behind the rest of her mindscape. It was what she had tapped into when she had managed, as a small child, to keep Bellatrix from reading her, how she had kept her eyes so carefully blank when he first met her.

He could see it, when he was training her in Occlumency, and Bellatrix had seen it, when she had launched her takeover on Calista's mind a few years ago. It was why she was so keen, now, to get her claws into their daughter, to exert her influence while Calista was still young, mostly untrained (or so Bellatrix thought).

Calista had never really had access to her full potential. When she was young, she had pulled from it, unconsciously, to protect herself, but that wasn't the same thing as being able to use it at will. And now, all of the pieces were there, everything she needed to be an exceptionally powerful Occlumens. They just weren't _connecting_ in all the right places - it was like there was a tear in the fabric of her mind, a missing piece, a loose thread, that should have connected her to the full extent of her abilities.

He'd say it again - Occlumency was a tricky, nuanced thing. He'd tried, back when he'd rescued her from Bellatrix's intrusion, to remove the one, the darkest, memory cleanly. He'd had to do it; it was the key that Bellatrix had used to connect to her across an entire ocean and countless miles, and it had been destroying Calista. He couldn't take back what Bellatrix had done to his child, but he _could_ allow her to grow up, to find herself, without the memory of it clinging to to every step she took, and that's what he had done.

With every day of her life after he had taken the memory, he had seen that it had been the right thing, a necessary thing. She'd transformed; she'd gone from a haunted wraith to a child. A clever, stubborn, spirited child with opinions, and desires, and, almost unbelievably in light of the way she had been when he met her, a capacity to love.

It could have caused her entire mind to come unravelled, plucking out the thread of such a central, core memory, if it had been done by anyone less skilled, less connected to her, than he. But he _was_ skilled, and he _was_ connected to her, and he had known it could be done. And yet, altering the mind - it was never done lightly, because it was never done without consequence.

She couldn't access all of her potential, yet. He didn't know if she ever could, without the missing piece of her memory. The worrying part was that he couldn't say, with utmost certainty, that she would be able to even after it was inevitably returned to her one day; and the terrifying part was that, with all of that potential, all of that power - if Bellatrix ever did gain control of it all, and use it against Calista, it could utterly destroy her, from the inside out.

That was his job, he thought. To ensure that it never happened.


End file.
